“If it has nothing to do with the murder, as you’ve said, then it will remain confidential. But we can’t make any guarantee if it turns out to be a factor. I’m sure you can understand that, Herr Grundström.”
“Okay, as long as we’re clear on the ground rules. It’s Nordbank,” he said, naming one of the largest banks in Sweden.
Vinter raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Because of their size, I assume they’re proposing to buy your bank.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’ll head the merged bank?” asked Holm.
“No. I expect it will be their current CEO.”
“So you’ll be out of a job?”
“Not at all. I’m to be the chief operating officer at a substantial increase in compensation.”
“But you won’t be the CEO.”
“Not for now. However their current head is planning on retiring in less than two years and I’d be the logical choice as successor.”
“How did Herr Haake feel about the merger?” asked Vinter.
“He was very much against it. He’d been trying to persuade our board to turn down the offer.”
“Why was that?”
“Because he’d no longer be chairman and CEO. Unlike me, he’d have found it impossible to be in a subordinate position, even for a few years. Besides, they didn’t want him in any capacity.”
“So he was going to be forced into retirement if the merger went through.”
“Yes, it was his age: he was sixty-two. Their board wanted younger leadership.”
“Could he have succeeded in stopping the merger?”
Grundström paused for a moment. “It’s hard to say. Probably not, but he’d convinced a few key members of our board to vote against it. Nordbank had made a generous offer in stock and cash and most of the board would realize something of a windfall if the merger went through.’’
“And would you also benefit financially, Herr Grundström?” asked Vinter.
“Yes, I guess I would.” He stared with tightened features at each of them, and then said in a harsh voice, “You’re not suggesting that I had any reason to kill Fredrik, are you, because that would be an outrageous idea.”
“Not at all, Herr Grundström. As we told you, we’re just gathering information,” Vinter replied.
Holm and Vinter were using two computers to look through the DVDs Grundström had given them in response to the warrant, searching for e-mails between Haake and his bank’s board members.
“It’s clear that Haake was really upset about the merger,” said Holm. “Look at this one.”
Vinter came over and read the screen over his shoulder. Haake had written to all the board members a week before his death, denouncing the merger and arguing for the bank’s continued independence. He’d concluded by offering to double the directors’ compensation.
“He sounds frantic,” said Vinter.
“Yes, he was desperate to stop the merger. But he may have had a better chance of succeeding than Grundström said. I found this one too. It was two days before Haake was killed.”
He changed screens to an e-mail from one of the directors to each of the others. It indicated that a majority of the board had decided to side with Haake and oppose the merger.
“With Haake gone, however, everything changed.”
“Yes. He was the one, real obstacle,” Holm said.
“So Grundström and those directors who supported the merger had every reason to want him out of the way.”
“But who was willing to kill him over this? We need to take a look at the finances of Grundström and the board members who wanted the merger.”
“There are going to be a lot of unhappy bankers when we go digging around.”
“True, but upsetting the smug and powerful is half the fun of the job, right?” said Holm.
50
IVAR’S PLAN
Saturday, February 4, 5 p.m. Ivar and Thore Ostlund were sitting in facing armchairs with drinks in their hands in the living room of Ostlund’s spacious apartment in Sõdermalm, a trendy section of Stockholm.
Ivar had been laying out Karim’s proposal for Ostlund.
“So you see, they want us to get out of the women business entirely.”
Ostlund was silent for a moment. “They may be right. It’s become increasingly risky.”
“Yes, it’s risky, but it’s always been. We knew that when we started. With the drugs, it’s made us both rich. We shouldn’t panic now and just get out. It’s taken years to build up a clientele. If we drop them and then things quiet down, we’ll never get them back. And it’s not everyone who has a taste for what we’ve been providing.”
“I don’t know. You may be right. But it feels like things are closing in, and I have to tell you, Ivar, I’m getting more and more uncomfortable. Why don’t we just pull back until the search for Ahmed dies down?” Ostlund asked.
“If we’re going to stay in the business, I think we need to keep on doing exactly as we have. That search will go nowhere.”
“You sound very certain about that.”
“I am. Trust me on this,” Ivar said.
“Assuming you’re right, how are we going to deal with Karim?”
“We’ll send Marrakech all the women we have now, tell them we’ve dropped the business, and take the 10 percent cut in the drug price.”
“But we’re not really getting out?” asked Ostlund.
“No, we’ll just find another wholesaler outside Europe to take new women off our hands when our clients are through with them. It shouldn’t be difficult to locate someone. There’s plenty of demand in the Middle East and Southeast Asia for well-trained European women.”
“What do you think Karim will do if he finds out?”
“They could stop doing business with us entirely. But I don’t think they will. Our drug distribution network has functioned too well for them. They’d have to start from scratch again, find another distributor and try them out, and that could be very expensive.
“No, I think they’ll bitch about it and take back their 10 percent cut, probably retroactively. But we can live with that. We won’t be any worse off than before the new arrangement. My guess is that they’re already looking for another supplier of women, an outfit not connected to their drug business,” Ivar said.
“If we ship all our current supply to Marrakech this week, how will we manage to hang on to our clients? It takes time for me to find the right women.”
“They need us much more than we need them. We’ll just tell them we’re restocking with exciting new merchandise and it will take a few weeks.”
“I’m going to have to scramble then to pick up new goods,” Ostlund said.
“It’ll be worth it. And Marta and Gotz will have a good time breaking them in. They’ve both seemed on edge lately. Marta has become even bitchier than usual. And despite his denials, we both agree that Gotz probably killed Haake.”
“That’s a real problem. I think he’s out of control, and he’s endangered us by a killing that’s turned up the heat.”
“We’ll increase his take and Marta’s, and feed them new women; that should keep them in line,” Ivar said.
“I hope you’re right. If Gotz kills again on his own, no matter how useful he is, we’ll have to get rid of him.”
51
AN ENGLISH BREAKFAST
Tuesday, February 7, 5:30 a.m. Ekman had slept badly, tossing and turning during the night and getting up twice to use the bathroom, a sign, he thought, of impending old age. He’d groped his way cautiously in the dark, not wanting to turn on a light and disturb Ingbritt.
The second time he’d gotten up, she’d stirred and raising herself on an elbow, asked, “Are you all right, Walther?”
“Yes, I’m fine, just need to pee. Go back to sleep.”
Ingbritt turned on the bedside lamp and looked at the alarm clock. “It’s time I got up anyway,” she said, throwing off the duvet and reaching for her quilted robe on the c
hair next to the bed. She pulled on the housecoat, slipped her feet into warm, sheepskin-lined mules, and headed out the bedroom door for the stairs to the kitchen.
Ekman took longer than usual in the shower, letting the steaming hot water run over his neck and back. Those muscles often ached, another sign of advancing age? Or perhaps just stress, and the wet heat felt good.
Looking at himself in the full-length mirror as he dressed, he glanced at his expanding belly, and shook his head. He was going to have to exercise and tighten things up. But when would he find the time? Since Haake’s murder, this case had become all-consuming. He felt relentless pressure.
As he came downstairs and into the warm kitchen, the scent of frying bacon became stronger and he could hear it sizzling in the pan.
“I thought this morning I’d do something different and cook us a real English breakfast.”
“That sounds terrific and smells even better,” he said.
Their usual breakfast sandwiches were fine, but this was a welcome change on a cold winter’s day.
Ingbritt served them each glasses of fresh orange juice, and plates piled with four strips of streaky bacon, two fried eggs, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, and beans, accompanied by a rack of whole wheat toast, marmalade, and a pot of black coffee.
“This looks marvelous. What a great idea,” Ekman said, rubbing his hands as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
After they’d finished, and were lingering over second cups of coffee, he’d gone to the front door and retrieved the two morning newspapers on the stoop, covered in plastic that was wet from the now heavily falling snow.
Going back into the kitchen, he threw away the wrappings and handed a paper to Ingbritt. Both newspapers had front page stories about the investigation of Haake’s murder. The still fruitless, ongoing search for Ahmed had slid to a sidebar in one, and a brief paragraph on the third page of the other.
“Haeggman is at it again,” said Ekman. “Everything is a mess, nothing is happening, and it’s all my fault, as usual.” He held up the paper, punching the story hard with a finger.
“Walther, you mustn’t let him upset you,” Ingbritt said, observing his reddening face. “You know it’s bad for your blood pressure.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I should know better by now. He’d get a kick out of it if he knew he was getting to me. I shouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”
Ekman looked at his watch. It was 7:20. He folded the paper carefully and put it on the table.
“Time to get going,” he said. “Thanks again for the breakfast. It was a treat.”
Ingbritt watched through the living room windows as his car pulled slowly out of the drive and turned toward town on the freshly plowed road.
She had worried about him for about a year. He was still energetic and deeply involved in his work, but something was missing. A certain sense of joy in life seemed to have drained out of him since their son’s death. She wondered if it would ever return.
52
SUSPECTS
Tuesday, February 7, 8 a.m. When Ekman came into the conference room, he saw that everyone was there except Kallenberg.
He waited five minutes before beginning, letting the others chat among themselves, and debated whether to delay longer for the prosecutor. He decided it wasn’t his problem; Kallenberg knew the meeting time.
Just then the prosecutor came in and took his seat.
“Sorry to hold you up,” he said to Ekman. “The roads were worse than I’d thought.”
“Okay everyone, let’s get started,” Ekman said. “Garth, how is the Hult surveillance going?”
“Everything’s in place, but nothing of interest has happened so far. He’s phoned a few friends, just routine conversations. Alrik’s checked these people out, however, and he can tell you about them. Hult’s been to a couple of local bars and we’ve sent someone in to watch. He had a drink or two then left. No contact with anyone.”
“Alrik?”
“Neither one of his phone buddies has a record. They talked about sports mostly and a new girlfriend one of them has been dating. Nothing relating to Haake or trafficking.”
“Rosengren and Alenius. Anything?”
“We double-checked the alibis of Haake’s wife’s lovers. They still hold up,” said Rosengren.
“But we also took another look at the dates she gave us, and you were right, Chief, there’s been a recent gap that looks as though she’s left someone out,” Alenius said.
“She’s been very active for an old broad,” Rosengren added, “and hasn’t had any trouble finding new guys, so why the break? It doesn’t add up.”
“Gerdi, you had a productive talk with Fru Haake,” said Ekman. “Why don’t you have another chat with her and see if she’s been holding out on us.”
“Will do, Chief,” Vinter said.
“Enar and Gerdi, what did you find out at Haake’s bank?”
“We may have something interesting,” said Holm. “There was a good reason they didn’t want to give us information about their merger.”
“Haake was against it,” Vinter continued. “Nordbank wanted to buy them out, offering heavy cash and stock incentives, but wouldn’t have him as CEO, and in fact, didn’t want him at all. They thought he was too old and should just retire.”
“So Haake launched a campaign to stop the merger and had persuaded a majority of his directors to go along with him two days before he was killed,” said Holm. “The new CEO, Håkan Grundström, and the directors who wanted the merger, would lose a lot of money if it didn’t go through.”
“We’d like to take a look at Grundström’s finances, and those of the directors who wanted the merger, to find out how badly they needed it,” said Vinter. “We’ll have to get warrants to examine their financial records,” she added, glancing at Kallenberg, who’d been listening intently.
Ekman looked thoughtful. “Gerdi, you and Enar may have discovered an important new piece of the puzzle,” he said. “I think we should follow through on your idea. Prepare affidavits for the warrants.”
“I hate to disagree, Walther,” Kallenberg interjected. “This would be nothing more than a fishing expedition and it could become a serious problem. These are very prominent people. We have no substantial reason to suspect that any of them had a hand in Haake’s death.”
“Arvid, I understand your reluctance, but all of us,” he looked at Kallenberg directly, “are under a lot of public pressure to solve Haake’s murder quickly. Every avenue has to be explored, even if it might mean upsetting a few important people.”
Kallenberg was silent for a moment. “How many directors are we talking about?” he asked Vinter.
“Six, including Grundström.”
“All right, you’ll have your warrants. But do your search as unobtrusively as possible. And don’t interview any of them until you clear it with Herr Ekman and me. Is that acceptable, Walther?”
“I think that’s the right approach, Arvid.”
Ekman turned to Holm and Vinter. “Be discreet. This could be very touchy and we don’t need more problems.”
“Got it, Chief,” Holm replied.
53
LUNCHEON SPECIAL
Tuesday, February 7, 1:15 p.m. Ekman and Rapp were seated by a rear window in Ekman’s favorite restaurant across Stortorget Square from headquarters. They’d both ordered the smoked salmon plate lunch specials, and were sipping beers as they waited for their food.
Under a dismal sky, few cars and fewer pedestrians had braved the biting wind and deepening snow. The temperature was steadily dropping and icicles had formed on the stilled bronze fountain in the center of the plaza.
“Do you think we’ll get anywhere with those bankers?” Rapp asked.
“It’s a long shot in my opinion. They would have to be very desperate to commit murder to get their hands on extra cash. Bankers are likely to have other, less drastic means of bailing themselves out of financial difficulties.”
�
�So should we call off Enar and Gerdi before they accidentally stir up a hornet’s nest?”
“I don’t think we can. It’s an avenue that has to be explored even if it leads nowhere.”
Ekman was sitting facing the front door and saw two heavily bundled figures enter. He didn’t know them for a moment, and then saw it was Garth Rystrom and, when she threw back the hood of her parka, he immediately recognized Valdis Granholm’s red hair.
He stood up, waved to them, and said to Rapp, “We’ve got company.”
Rapp turned in his seat and a look of surprise crossed his face.
Rystrom and Granholm came over to the table.
“I thought we might catch you here,” Rystrom said to them. “Can we join you?”
“Please do,” said Ekman. Rapp had gotten up and pulled over two extra chairs.
“I didn’t know you were in town, Valdis,” Ekman said.
“Garth and I came down together.”
“Garth, you should have told me. Ingbritt would have been delighted to have had both of you over for dinner.”
Ekman knew that his instincts had been right: Granholm was the woman who’d been waiting for Rystrom at his hotel.
“I’d love to meet her. Perhaps we can arrange something in the next few days.”
“How long will you be in Weltenborg, Valdis?” asked Rapp.
“Until the weekend. Garth and I will be returning to Stockholm Saturday, and then he’ll come back down again Sunday night.”
The waiter came over. “Can I bring you something?” he asked the new arrivals.
Rystrom looked questioningly at Granholm. “Yes, I’m starving,” she said, as the waiter gave them two menus.
While they waited for their food, Granholm brought them up to date on her inquiries.
“There’s still nothing about Chafik. He seems to have just vanished. But we’ve had better luck finding out more about Joumari.
“He’s elderly, believed to be in his eighties, and, as we know, for fifty years he’s been thought to be a major figure in drugs and prostitution, not only in Morocco, but throughout the Middle East. He’s very secretive and always acts through several cutouts.
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