“I don’t believe you know about my personal situation. I’ve always tried to keep my private life private, but now I need your help.” He looks increasingly uncomfortable, thought Ekman.
“My partner is a man called Ivar Skarin. We’ve been together for ten months. Yesterday he told me he had an evening meeting up north, but would be home by eleven o’clock. He hasn’t returned and his phone is turned off. I’m very concerned that something’s happened to him.”
Ekman was surprised. It had never occurred to him that the prosecutor was gay. He’d just supposed that he was a confirmed bachelor. Your old-fashioned mores are showing, Ekman, he thought. The last “confirmed bachelor” probably died in Queen Victoria’s time.
“I can understand why you’re worried, Arvid. I’ll organize a search right away. Do you have his vehicle information and a photo of him?”
Kallenberg got up and went to his desk. “He drives a black Land Rover,” he said, handing Ekman the vehicle’s description that he’d copied from a paper on his desk. Opening a drawer, he took out a small, framed photograph of a handsome man’s smiling face. He brought it over to Ekman, who’d gotten up.
“This is Ivar. Can I have it back when you’re finished with it?”
“Certainly. We’ll be careful,” Ekman said, and going over to the coatrack, put it in a pocket.
“We’ll also need his physical description.”
“He’s forty-six, tall and slender, about six feet two, 180 pounds.”
Ekman had taken out a small notebook and wrote down the information. “Do you know exactly where he was going last night?”
“No, just that it was a few hours north and it was an important meeting.”
“Did he mention who he was meeting with?”
“He only said they were business associates, people I didn’t know.”
“What sort of business was he involved in?”
“Ivar told me when we first met that he was an investor in import-export businesses. He didn’t elaborate and I never pressed him about it. My understanding was that he did quite well financially. He bought the large house we’re living in. I could never have afforded it on my government salary. He always said he liked to live well and wanted to share everything with me. He’s a wonderful, generous person.” Kallenberg’s eyes grew moist as he said this, and he looked away.
Ekman had never before seen the urbane prosecutor emotional.
“Please try not to worry, Arvid, I’m sure we’ll find him and he’ll be fine.” But Ekman already suspected that something very bad had happened to Ivar Skarin.
69
SEARCH
Wednesday, February 15, 1 p.m. Ekman had called a special meeting of his team, but had decided not to include Eliasson and let her continue her work. They were waiting for him when he came in and took his seat at the conference table.
“We’ve got a new problem,” he said.
“As if we needed another one, Chief,” put in Rosengren.
Ekman ignored him. “Prosecutor Kallenberg’s partner, a man named Ivar Skarin, has gone missing since last night. We need to find him.” Ekman repeated what Kallenberg had told him.
“Who’d have guessed Kallenberg is a fag?” Rosengren smirked.
Ekman glared at him. “You’re way out of line, Rosengren. There’s no place for homophobia on this team. One more remark and you’re out.”
“I’m sorry, Chief. I shouldn’t have said that,” he replied.
“You shouldn’t even have thought it,” Ekman said, and turned to the other team members.
“I want to know everything we can about Skarin, who his business associates are, where they were meeting, if he arrived, and when he left. We can track him from there.
“Alrik, have all our data bases checked for information about him and his business partners. And have copies made of this photo and distributed with an APB for his car.” Ekman handed the photo and vehicle information across to Rapp. “Take good care of the photo. I promised Kallenberg he’d get it back.”
“Gerdi and Enar, we probably would have heard something by now if there was an auto accident, but just in case, take a look at all of last night’s accident reports between here and Stockholm.
“Rosengren and Alenius, check all the hospitals and morgues in the same area.”
“That’s a lot of territory, Chief,” protested Rosengren.
“Yes, I agree it will be tedious, but it’s necessary. I know you’re good at tedious work,” said a straight-faced Ekman. Holm suppressed a laugh.
“We’re going to give Kallenberg’s request everything we’ve got. He’s our colleague and we owe it to him. It’s now one fifteen,” he said, checking his pocket watch. “We’ll meet back here at four fifteen.”
When the team reassembled three hours later, Ekman was hopeful they’d found Skarin, one way or another.
“Enar and Gerdi, anything?”
“We checked all the auto accident reports, Chief,” Vinter said, “but there was nothing involving Skarin.”
“Okay. Rosengren, anything from the hospitals and morgues?”
“We worked our butts off, Chief, to cover them all in three hours. There were two cases we thought might be Skarin. They had no ID, so we faxed his photo, but they said there was no resemblance.”
“Alrik, what can you tell us about him?”
“The APB went out right away, but his car hasn’t been sighted. Skarin has no record, not even a parking ticket. While he claimed to have business interests, there’s nothing to show what they are either. He was probably a silent partner. We need to look at his financial records to find out more.”
“I’ll ask Kallenberg to let us examine Skarin’s papers at their home,” said Ekman, standing and looking around at the team. “Plan on working into the night if we have to. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” and then headed to his office to make the call.
“Arvid, I have some partly good news for you. Herr Skarin has not had an accident, and isn’t in a hospital, or anywhere else that we can discover.” Ekman didn’t mention that they’d also checked morgues.
“What we need to do now is take a look at his personal papers to find out who he was planning to meet. My team and I can be at your house in half an hour, if that’s all right with you.”
Kallenberg hesitated. “I hate to violate his privacy, Walther, but if it’s going to help you find him, it has to be done. I guess I’ll just have to apologize profusely, later,” he said with a slight laugh.
“The address is Forehingsgatan 37. That’s in the Arboga district,” he said, naming the fashionable section of Weltenborg.
“We’ll see you there at five o’clock,” said Ekman and hung up.
The house was not just large, as Kallenberg had told him, it was a huge three-story, 600-square-meter building, set back from the quiet residential street on two acres of manicured grounds.
As their cars pulled into the brick-paved, circular drive behind Kallenberg’s modest little Peugeot, he opened the front door.
“This way to his study,” said Kallenberg, leading the six of them down a wide hallway to the rear of the house.
The room was beautifully furnished with antiques. An ornate Louis XVI desk faced out windows overlooking what in spring would be a flower garden, now turned brown and desolate.
Alrik immediately took charge, organizing the search of the room and Skarin’s desk for papers. On one side of it was a new computer.
Glancing at it, Ekman asked, “Do you have the password for his computer, Arvid?”
“No, I don’t, Walther. Is it really necessary to get into it?”
“Unless we find the information we need in his papers, I’m afraid so. He may have kept his calendar on the computer with details about that meeting.”
“All right. Do whatever you have to.”
“We’re going to have to take it with us for our technicians to examine. Their equipment is back at headquarters.”
“I understand,” said Kalle
nberg. “I hope it won’t slow you down.”
“I’m going to assume that most of what we need is on his computer. I’ll tell our techs to expect it this evening,” he said, and taking out his phone, called the office.
“I’ll get equipment and a cyber specialist from Stockholm who can help with that,” said Rystrom, and walking away, placed a call.
Ekman, Rystrom, and Kallenberg left the others going through Skarin’s papers and went back down the hall into the tall-ceilinged living room with comfortable, masculine furniture upholstered in a muted burgundy and green plaid.
“Can I get you anything, Walther, Garth?”
They both shook their heads.
“Tell us a little more about Ivar,” Ekman said.
Kallenberg became thoughtful, remembering. “We met at a museum exhibition. I was admiring a sculpture, he struck up a conversation with me, we hit it off, and over a few weeks, one thing led to another,” and he gestured at their surroundings.
“That was ten months ago?”
“Yes, although it seems like yesterday,” said Kallenberg, becoming silent.
“What sort of person is he? Does he talk much about his past?”
“As I told you, he’s kind, and generous to a fault. Also extremely intelligent and well-read. But he’s reticent about his past. I think some of it must have been unpleasant and he doesn’t want to be reminded of it.”
Rapp came into the room. “We’ve gone through all the papers we could find, Walther. Mostly bills relating to this house, car repairs, and so on. There’s no diary, nothing that tells us about his business interests or that meeting last night. No bank statements either, so his financial information must also be on the computer. We’re ready to take it with us.”
Going over to Kallenberg, Rapp handed him Skarin’s framed photo. “We’ve finished with this. I know you wanted it back.”
“Thanks, it was a gift.”
Ekman got up. “Arvid, we’re going to be working on this into the night. Let me know if you hear anything from him.”
Kallenberg came over and shook hands with each of the three men. “Thank you, and your team. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
As the hours passed with no trace of Skarin, Ekman grew increasingly convinced that Kallenberg would never see him again.
70
BREAKTHROUGH
Thursday, February 16, 6:30 a.m. Ekman had gotten home last night after eleven, exhausted from the long day. Hours before, he’d grabbed a small sandwich for dinner at the police cafeteria and it hadn’t been enough. He was famished.
Ingbritt had waited up, and warmed some soup and sausages for him. While he ate and sipped a beer, he told her about the search for Skarin.
“We’d hoped his computer would give us the information we need to find him, but our technical people couldn’t break into it. So we had to wait for Garth’s cyber specialist to come down from Stockholm. She didn’t get in until after nine, and wasn’t a happy woman about having her life disrupted on short notice. When I left at ten thirty, she was still at it. I sent everyone home to get some sleep. Until she cracks that computer, we have nothing to go on.”
“What do you think has happened to him?”
“My guess is he’s wrecked his car in some offbeat location and that’s why our highway patrols haven’t found it. He’s probably badly injured, unconscious, or dead.”
“But if you can find out where this meeting was, then you may be able to track him going to or from there?”
“That’s our belief.”
“I feel so sorry for Herr Kallenberg. He must be frantic with worry.”
“I can well imagine what he’s going through,” said Ekman, and meant it.
The sun wouldn’t be up for another two hours. Heavy snowflakes were swirling out of the dark onto the windshield as Ekman headed down Brunnvägen.
He wanted to get in early and find out whether work on the computer was getting anywhere. While the search for Skarin was taking immediate priority, he also needed to check with Eliasson to see if she’d come up with something that could move the murder investigation forward. There were just too many balls in the air now and he felt the frustration of not being able to field any of them.
Holm was already at his desk and absorbed in sorting through stacks of paper when Ekman arrived. His face was drawn from fatigue as he followed Ekman into his office.
Ekman took one look at him and said, “Don’t tell me you didn’t go home after I left?”
“I caught a couple of hours on the duty officer’s cot. I’m okay. I’ve got great news for you.”
“She got into the computer?”
“Two hours after you left, there was a breakthrough. Everything opened up and I’ve just finished printing it all out. Those are the papers I was working on when you came in.”
“Do we know where Skarin’s meeting was?”
“Yes, but there’s much more than that, Chief. Skarin was running major drug- and women-trafficking operations. Everything he did is on the computer. Names of associates, dates and amounts of deliveries of drugs and women, money paid and received, client lists with dates, videos of them he probably used for blackmail, financial statements, real estate holdings, and a daily diary. He also put down his thoughts and future plans. It’s all there.” Enar was so excited by this recitation he could barely contain himself.
Ekman was stunned. It was a treasure trove. Now they’d be able to roll up the drug and trafficking rings. And with the information they had they should be able to solve the murders that must be linked to the rings.
“That’s great work, Enar. Congratulations. Where’s Carlin?” he asked, referring to Tyri Carlin, Rystrom’s cyber specialist.
“She’s exhausted and crashed after she broke through. I got her a room at the Thon.”
“When she surfaces, make sure you bring her here. We owe her big time: flowers, champagne, whatever she wants.” A weight had been lifted because the way ahead was now open.
The question was where to start, and how to break the startling news to Kallenberg. If indeed it was news. Ekman’s frustrations with Kallenberg were now becoming serious doubts about Weltenborg’s prosecutor.
At eight, the team, a little the worse for wear, assembled. Kallenberg didn’t join them, and Ekman thought that was just as well. He needed to speak with him privately.
“It’s a very good morning indeed, even with this snowstorm. As Enar may have told some of you,” he said, smiling at Vinter, “we’ve had a breakthrough thanks to Tyri Carlin, Garth’s brilliant specialist. Garth, getting her here has made all the difference. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” Rystrom said, grinning back at him. Carlin had reported to him what she’d found as soon as she had gotten into the computer.
“Enar, why don’t you brief everyone on what we now know,” Ekman said.
Holm repeated to the others what he’d told Ekman. Those for whom this was news were astonished.
“That’s amazing stuff,” said Rapp.
Rosengren said enthusiastically, “We’re on a roll, Chief.” Taciturn as usual, Alenius just nodded agreement.
Annborg Eliasson was smiling broadly. Her research hadn’t turned up any good leads. This new information with details about the drug distribution network would keep her and her squad busy for weeks, probably months.
“Okay, everyone,” Ekman said. “We now know where Skarin’s meeting was held. It was at a farmhouse about two hours north. We don’t know why Skarin hasn’t contacted Kallenberg, but we’ll assume the worst because there’s no indication in his notes that he was planning to just drop everything and make a run for it.”
Ekman turned to Rapp. “Alrik, you, Garth, and I will head there as soon as the snow stops and the roads are cleared. We don’t know what we’ll find so let’s bring the Piketen SWAT team, forensics techs, and a pathologist with us.
“Enar and Gerdi, I want you to go through the reams of information Enar was organizi
ng and map out some strategies for us to consider.”
“Annborg, they’ll give you copies of everything related to the drug business so you can decide how you want to proceed. Brief me on what you propose.
“I’ll need to speak with Kallenberg when we get back from the farmhouse. Until then, no one should answer any calls from him.”
71
CRIME SCENE
Thursday, February 16, 10:50 a.m. It was midmorning before the snow let up. They waited another half hour for the roads to be cleared and then set out in a convoy. Ekman led the way in a police car seated next to a constable who was driving, with Rapp and Rystrom in the back. Behind them was a lumbering SWAT van, then a bus with a dozen other officers, and a van with the forensics team and pathologist.
They’d found the location of the farmhouse and adjoining barn from a deed that had been scanned into the computer. Using a detailed topographical map, they’d been able to pinpoint the access road.
As they approached the farmhouse down the rutted, snow-covered dirt lane, Ekman called the commander of the Piketen team on the secure police car-to-car radio link.
“I’m going to have us pull over and slow down so you can take the lead and check out the farmhouse and barn.”
“Roger, affirmative that,” replied the commander, a grizzled army veteran who preferred jargon to a simple “Okay.”
By the time Ekman and the others had pulled into the yard, the SWAT team had cautiously entered the house and barn. Everyone waited ten tense minutes until the SWAT commander came over to Ekman’s car.
“It’s all clear,” he said. “You can go ahead in. I have to tell you there are bodies all over the place. There’s nothing more for us here, so we’re heading back.”
“Thanks for your help, Janrik. Sorry to bring you all the way out here for nothing.”
“No problem, you can never know. So it’s what we do. You’ve got a real mess on your hands in there,” he said, gesturing to the farmhouse. “Good luck,” he said and went back toward the house, calling out to his six-man team to assemble outside for the ride back to Weltenborg.
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