‘Yes, and on perhaps a couple of other occasions, actually. When my wife and I have held large parties. I seem to remember a lunch in the spring, if nothing else.’
‘How about you? Had you ever been to Eriksson’s house out in Ålsten?’
‘No, never,’ von Comer said. ‘I believe he may have invited my wife and me to a large dinner he was hosting but we had already committed to go elsewhere. So it never happened.’
‘You must excuse me if I seem to be labouring the point,’ Bäckström said. ‘But you have never been to the home of the lawyer Thomas Eriksson?’
‘No, never,’ confirmed von Comer. ‘I know where he lives, but I’ve never set foot in his house. Why would you think I had?’
‘Perhaps I’ve just been conditioned by previous cases,’ Bäckström said, in an almost jovial tone of voice. ‘I hear what you’re saying, and I have no reason to mistrust you. But just for the record. And at the risk of overstating the point. You’ve never been inside Eriksson’s house at number 127, Ålstensgatan?’
‘No, never, but I have been to his office. Twice, about a year ago. That was when he asked me to sell the artworks we’ve talked about. On the first occasion I gave him a valuation of the various items. He had the collection in his office. There must be plenty of people there who can confirm that visit. I also have a definite recollection that Peter – Danielsson, the lawyer, I mean – also came in to look at the paintings.’
‘I see,’ Bäckström said. ‘What about the second visit?’
‘Thomas telephoned me, and we met a couple of days later, again at his office, and that was when we agreed my fee, among other things. The collection was sent to my home – I have my office in the house – but a delivery company took care of that.’
‘From what you’re saying, I take it to mean that you weren’t close friends, but not unknown to each other. Acquaintances, perhaps. And that on one occasion you had a business relationship. When he asked you to help him sell those paintings.’
‘Yes,’ von Comer said. ‘That would be a perfectly correct interpretation.’
‘Which leads me naturally to that little incident outside the Drottningholm Palace. I have every sympathy for the idea that one might think that the police should have nothing to do with private matters of that nature, but, considering what later happened to Eriksson, perhaps you can appreciate why we’re unable to ignore it.’
‘Yes,’ von Comer said. ‘I must admit that it was foolish of me, but my attitude was precisely as you describe. That it was a private mis understanding that had nothing to do with the police, and which Eriksson and I had already resolved by the time the police contacted me. For Eriksson and myself, the matter was in the past.’
‘Just for the record, could I ask you to explain what happened in your own words?’ Bäckström said.
Eriksson had called him on his mobile when he was out taking his evening walk and, because he was already shouting and screaming, and was apparently on his way to von Comer’s house, he had suggested that they meet in the car park in front of the theatre. Eriksson had been upset, shouting and waving an auction catalogue, which at one point struck von Comer in the face, making his nose bleed.
‘That was when I decided it would be best to walk away,’ von Comer said. ‘He was impossible to reason with, actually very abusive. So I walked away.’
‘Why was he so upset?’ Bäckström asked.
‘It was all a complete misunderstanding arising from the sale of one of the paintings. It was actually my fault in part, because I had calculated the accounts in the wrong currency and Eriksson received too little money. As soon as I was aware of this, naturally I took the necessary actions to rectify the situation. There’s also a receipt that will confirm this, of course. While we were talking about this, I also made it clear to him that, in light of what had happened, I was unwilling to continue with the work I had undertaken to do for him.’
‘I can quite understand that,’ Bäckström said. ‘How did he take it?’
‘He didn’t raise any objections, and actually apologized and said that he regretted what had happened and told me that he respected my decision.’
‘One last question before we break for lunch,’ Bäckström said. ‘Did Eriksson say who had commissioned him to sell those paintings? Who the owner was?’
‘No,’ von Comer said. ‘I certainly asked, but he explained that he was prohibited from divulging the identity of his client. That isn’t at all unusual, I can tell you. He also assured me that their provenance was entirely in order. No cause for concern.’
‘How about you?’
‘How do you mean?’ von Comer asked.
‘Obviously, I’ve come to understand that you’re regarded as a prominent art historian,’ Bäckström said. ‘I was just wondering if you might have recognized the items and knew who they belonged to?’
‘No,’ von Comer said. ‘Naturally, I conducted the usual searches in various art databases and old auction catalogues, but to no avail. It wasn’t that he’d asked me to help him sell a lot of rubbish, but there wasn’t anything particularly special, if I can put it like that. When we’re dealing with the provenance of Russian art during the twentieth century, unfortunately, things often get extremely confused. We mustn’t forget that Russia had a revolution and two world wars in the last century, in which millions died and everything that they owned simply vanished.’
‘I see,’ Bäckström said. ‘Well, I’m satisfied,’ he went on, giving Lisa Lamm and Johan Ek a questioning look. They shook their heads in unison.
‘Is there anything that you yourself are wondering?’ he said, nodding in von Comer’s direction. ‘Anything you’d like to raise, anything you think we’ve forgotten, anything that isn’t clear?’
‘No,’ von Comer said. ‘Although I can’t help wondering how long I’m going to have to sit here. I have a lot to be getting on with at home, you see.’
‘I can assure you, you won’t have to sit here a minute longer than is strictly necessary. Well, if no one has any more questions, I can confirm that the interview is now concluded. The time is 11.50,’ Bäckström declared, switching the tape recorder off.
105
After the first interview Lisa Lamm went back with Bäckström to his office, because she had a number of things she wanted to discuss between just the two of them.
‘Okay,’ Bäckström said as soon as he had sat down. ‘What can I do for our senior prosecutor?’ Before I starve to death, he thought.
‘To start with, I’d like to pay you a compliment,’ Lisa Lamm said. ‘I had no idea you could be so empathetic.’
‘It’s all about saving time,’ Bäckström said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Once someone like von Comer clams up, it can take years before they’re behind bars.’
‘You got him to admit that Eriksson had assaulted him,’ Lisa Lamm said.
‘Sure, but that’s not going to land him in prison. That just makes him a crime victim.’
‘But it’s also a potential motive, which is a good start. I think you’re being too modest, Bäckström. And he’s also conceded that he met both Åkare and García Gomez just a couple of days before the murder. In his own home, no less. We didn’t have any idea about that.’
‘Rather that than have one of his neighbours tell us, meaning we could accuse him of lying,’ Bäckström said. ‘The chances that one of them might have noticed Åkare and García Gomez must be pretty reasonable, to put it mildly. If you ask me, he’s only said one thing that I think is of any value. But, at the same time, it worries me.’
‘What’s that?’ Lisa Lamm asked.
‘That he denies ever having been inside Eriksson’s house. That he’s never even set foot there. Suppose he was sitting there and shat himself on Eriksson’s sofa when Eriksson tried to blow his head off and that one of his accomplices goes on to kill Eriksson.’
‘Would he be so stupid as to deny ever having been inside the house? I see what you mean,’ Lisa Lamm said.
>
‘If I was in his trousers, I’d have said, sure, I was there a few days before, to celebrate the fact that we’d patched things up, and because we’d had a bit to drink – a lot, actually – I happened to let out a little fart that turned out to be considerably wetter than anticipated.’ The sort of thing that can happen to the best of us, Bäckström thought.
‘I agree,’ Lisa Lamm said. ‘If it is his DNA on that sofa, which we might know as early as tomorrow, then I promise to remand him in custody on suspicion of Eriksson’s murder.’
‘And what if it isn’t?’
‘Attempted fraud, or actual aggravated fraud,’ Lisa Lamm said. ‘He won’t be able to wriggle out of that one.’
‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ Bäckström said with a shrug. ‘The problem is that I’m a homicide detective, and that’s not really much comfort to me. Anyway – there are two things I wanted to ask you for.’
‘Yes?’
‘Firstly, that we hold him until we get the results from the National Forensics Lab, telling us if it was him trying to lay a log on Eriksson’s sofa.’
‘Of course,’ Lisa Lamm said. ‘Agreed. And the second thing?’
‘That you and Ek take charge of interviewing him after lunch. You could even bring in Nadja as well, if she’s got anything to contribute. Ask him about the fraud. If you’re wondering why I don’t want to wield the axe, it’s because I’ve got other, more important things to do.’
‘Do you think he’s going to deny it?’
‘Categorically,’ Bäckström said. ‘He’ll deny it categorically. And then he’ll clam up. Refuse to talk to you. Won’t say another word until he’s got a lawyer present. After that, we’re fucked. Then you’ll have to drag him all the way to the Court of Appeal. And when they shake their heads, you’ll end up at the European Court.’
‘Suppose you led the interview with him instead, then?’
‘It wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference,’ Bäckström said. ‘People like him are just made that way.’
106
Lisa Lamm and Johan Ek had spoken to Nadja Högberg, and what Nadja had been able to tell them put them in a very good mood in advance of the interview they would be conducting with von Comer after lunch. According to von Comer’s bank, over the course of the ten days between Monday, 20 May and Thursday, 30 May he had made three separate withdrawals, amounting in total to a million kronor. He had even told his contact at the bank that the reason for this was the conclusion of an art deal with a seller who wanted payment in cash, and in Swedish kronor.
The search of his computer had shown beyond any reasonable doubt that someone with access to the computer had manipulated the original invoice in pounds and actively changed it to look like the amount was in Swedish kronor. The difference was nine hundred and sixty-two thousand kronor. The same amount that had been found in Eriksson’s desk. The amended invoice had then been emailed to Eriksson from the same computer, and fourteen days later an amount of approximately one hundred thousand Swedish kronor had been transferred from von Comer’s business account to an account belonging to Eriksson.
The original invoice amounting to just over a million kronor that had been sent in the post by Sotheby’s in London had also been found, in one of the files in von Comer’s office. The balance from Sotheby’s had been paid into his business account at the SE Bank. The day after the money arrived from England, the amount on the amended invoice had been transferred to Eriksson’s account. The difference – almost one million kronor – stayed in von Comer’s account. An amount which stood out, seeing as it was pretty much the only payment into the account during the month in question.
‘And let’s not forget that, according to the notes Eriksson made on his computer, he was the one who discovered what von Comer was up to. The person who put him on to it was probably Bäckström’s anonymous informant,’ Nadja Högberg said.
Well armed with facts and in good spirits, Senior Prosecutor Lisa Lamm chose to lead the interview with von Comer herself. She laid her cards on the table, showing him the evidence as she set out to question their suspected perpetrator. He responded by doing exactly what Bäckström had predicted.
To begin with, he explained to Lisa Lamm that it was all a misunderstanding, discovered by him and immediately rectified. That was all there was to it. A lamentable misunderstanding, no more than that. Lisa Lamm didn’t share that opinion, nor his interpretation. In her opinion, this was without doubt an attempt at aggravated fraud. What followed was again exactly what Bäckström had described.
‘That’s quite preposterous,’ von Comer said. ‘This is a completely pointless discussion, and I refuse to say another word until I’m allowed to see my lawyer.’
‘That sounds to me like a very sensible decision,’ Lisa Lamm agreed. ‘Because I’ve decided to request that you be remanded in custody this afternoon on the grounds of reasonable evidence. Bearing in mind your attitude, I’m afraid this could take quite a while to sort out.’ Welcome to the real world, you stuck-up arsehole, Senior Prosecutor Lisa Lamm thought.
107
Once Bäckström had left the police station, the remainder of his day had gone very well. While von Comer was sitting in his cell in the custody unit out in Solna, enjoying boiled sausage with horseradish sauce and mechanically peeled potatoes, Bäckström had partaken of a light lunch on the veranda of Operakällaren: fresh prawns with vendace caviar, grilled lamb cutlets, a raspberry parfait, as well as the drinks that formed a natural accompaniment. After a final cognac to aid his digestion, he took a taxi home to Kungsholmen for an afternoon rest.
On the way, his driver had stopped to buy a copy of the biggest evening paper in the country. Bäckström had already realized from the bellicose headlines that this was a day that would go down in Swedish media history. For the first time, investigative reporters had managed to connect His Majesty the King with the murder of a famous lawyer. The fact that there was also evidence of connections to the very worst sort of organized crime and art fraud amounting to millions was almost irrelevant in the larger context.
Bäckström began by switching off his phone, then he put on his dressing-gown, mixed the cooling summer drink that was obligatory at this time of year, lay down on the sofa and devoted a whole hour to reading the paper. From the introductory leader column, in which the paper’s political correspondent thundered against the Swedish banana monarchy and an aristocracy in a state of utter decay, to the final article, in which the newspaper’s court reporter gave an account of the king’s close friendship with Baron Hans Ulrik von Comer, and all the constitutional problems this could lead to.
In the middle of the paper, the editor-in-chief had expressed his own opinion. The only reason that they had chosen to publish the name of this latter-day Anckarström – harking back to Gustaf III’s assassination in 1792 – was of course that he was suspected of having committed one of the worst crimes in the Swedish Penal Code. Of murdering one of the country’s most famous lawyers.
Between all these principled observations they had managed to squeeze in over ten pages of news on the same theme, generously illustrated with pictures of all those involved in the story. His Majesty the King in an admiral’s uniform, in a frockcoat with the blue sash of the Royal Order of the Seraphim, in a white smoking jacket holding a glass of champagne, in a green Loden hunting jacket, clutching a shotgun, Baron von Comer in similar attire, all the way down to Eriksson the lawyer in a pinstripe suit, and Åkare and García Gomez in their motorbike helmets and leather waistcoats bearing the Hells Angels emblem. All the known actors in the drama, one of whom had been lying as a corpse in the forensic medical centre out in Solna for the past week or so, one now in custody at the police station, two with arrest warrants issued in their absence and the fifth on a state visit to Turkey.
The newspaper’s editorial staff had hit the bull’s eye again and again throughout the past twenty-four hours, whereas the palace press department appeared to have coped less well.
They had denied any particular knowledge of the villain of the piece. In the more familiar sense – considering the context – they had even denied him. Baron Hans Ulrik von Comer was at best a superficial acquaintance of the king and his family, and that acquaintanceship rested entirely upon the fact that he had been engaged for a number of minor tasks relating to the royal art collections. This was a trifling duty, and one which was currently being both investigated and brought to a close. This in spite of the fact that, to judge by the press secretary’s statement, it might have been thought that those duties consisted merely of dusting one or two old cabinets and adjusting the fringes of a few carpets along the way.
In response to this denial, the paper had published a veritable bombardment of pictures of the king and von Comer together in various social situations. In uniform and tails, smoking jackets and dark suits, scout caps, hunting jackets, golf trousers, riding boots, and – nine times out of ten – with a glass in their hands. Even pictures from the Riviera, in which both gentlemen were adorned with nothing but bathing trunks, cocktails with umbrellas in and happy smiles.
This is going to be brilliant, Bäckström thought with a sigh of contentment as he logged into his computer to take a look at the video on the newspaper’s website showing ‘the violent arrest of the king’s best friend’, in which he ‘was assaulted by a female police officer’.
The paper’s well-placed cameraman had managed to capture most of the action. In one take, with a shaky hand-held camera, the film began with von Comer, dressed in a dressing-gown and red silk pyjamas, trying to shut the door in Anchor Carlsson’s face, then she grabs him by the arm, shoves him back into the hall, he slaps her in the face, she knocks his legs out from under him and literally throws him to the floor, sits astride his back, pulls his arms back and handcuffs him. In both sound and vision, so Bäckström was able to hear shouting and yelling, insults and swearing, even the click of the handcuffs. Just to make sure, subtitles had been provided for the hard of hearing.
The Sword of Justice Page 39
