The waitress appeared, and Stenberg was about to ask for mineral water, but his wife got in ahead of him.
“Champagne,” she said. “Don’t you think, Daddy?”
Karl-Erik nodded contentedly from the other side of the table.
Stenberg frowned. He was still trying to work out what was going on. The waitress came back with glasses, a bottle, and a bucket of ice.
“It’s all done now,” his wife said when they all had something to drink in their glasses. “Daddy’s just come from a meeting with the prime minister. He’s going to appoint you as his official running mate in the election tomorrow evening. You’re going to be the party’s crown prince.”
Karolina flashed her most beautiful smile. Stenberg tried to find the right words. The prime minister and his father-in-law had had a meeting without him. Had decided his future without his involvement. But he had to rise above that humiliation. Tell himself that it was just another little sacrifice on the way to something bigger. Everything he and Karolina had dreamed about was on its way to coming true. He was on his way to the very top. Even so, he felt strangely distant. Cold. As if he were actually staring into an abyss.
“Wonderful,” he managed to say.
“Cheers, Jesper!” his father-in-law said. “A toast to you, the party, and the future!”
• • •
Julia pointed toward the little brown sofa that had once stood in her father’s study at home. “Sit down!”
Amante sat down obediently. She wasn’t used to having visitors, especially not colleagues, even though she lived only a few blocks from Police Headquarters. The apartment on Pontonjärgatan was her refuge. But he had called her at work a quarter of an hour earlier and had asked to see her at once.
For understandable reasons she couldn’t take him up to her office or to any of the restaurants or cafés in the immediate vicinity, especially not at lunchtime. If Pärson found out that she was seeing Amante, and during work time at that, she would doubtless slip a few notches farther down his blacklist.
She really ought to have said no, explained that she didn’t have time. Should have said they could meet up after she finished work, whenever that was. But she was far too curious to wait that long. So now he was sitting in her living room, on the sofa that still smelled faintly of the wax her father used to rub into it.
Amante glanced tentatively at the photographs above the television. Her parents’ wedding, her father as a young man in full uniform in front of a patrol car, a picture of her when she graduated from the police academy.
He looked a bit brighter today, better than when they had last met. He had showered, put on some fresh clothes, and made an effort to shave, probably with a disposable razor, seeing as he still had a bit of bloody tissue paper stuck to his neck. But the rings under his eyes and the glassy stare were still there. She wondered if he was getting any sleep.
“Coffee?”
He looked as if he needed it. But he shook his head, so she went on:
“What have you found out? Did you find someone in the department who could help?”
“Yes. Here’s the minister of justice’s diary.” Amante put some printouts down on the coffee table. “David Sarac last used his computer on February twenty-eighth, so it’s reasonable to assume that he was killed that day, or possibly sometime in the following few days. That fits reasonably well with the length of time the body spent in the water. He sends the document and photograph on the twenty-sixth, and receives an answer via the Inkognite server by the twenty-eighth at the latest. Do we agree on that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Jesper Stenberg was away on business from February twenty-third. First a couple of meetings in Brussels, then a trip to his former workplace in The Hague, the International Criminal Court, then, finally, a meeting of EU justice ministers in Paris. He didn’t get home until the evening of March third. If we seriously suspected the minister of justice of having murdered Sarac, he appears to have an alibi. Unless Sarac was killed later than we think.” Amante paused for a moment. “Just to be clear: Do we really think that the minister of justice might have killed and dismembered someone?”
Julia had thought about that a lot in the past twenty-four hours. She had read all she could find about Stenberg’s career and family, plowing through numerous articles and online discussion boards, and had even watched a few clips of him on YouTube.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think Jesper Stenberg killed Sarac and chopped him up.”
“Okay, what do you base that on, apart from his apparent alibi?”
“To start with, I don’t think he’s capable of it. Like the pathologist said, it takes a particular mentality to do what our perpetrator did to Sarac’s body. A will of iron, absolute commitment. Stenberg isn’t the type. He’s slippery; he’s used to talking while other people do the dirty work.”
Wallin’s face popped into her head. The vein in his temple, his bitter smile. How was he going to react when she told him what she’d found out?
“You mean he commissioned someone?”
“Maybe. Or . . .” She didn’t really know how to express what she was thinking without sounding like an idiot. “. . . or perhaps he didn’t actually know anything. About the e-mail from Sarac, or the photograph.”
Amante looked at her quizzically. “You’re going to have to explain that a bit more.”
Julia bit her top lip.
“Jesper Stenberg is a highflyer. He did a few years in The Hague, then got a job with a prestigious law firm, Thorning & Partners. He was given a few high-profile cases, became the media’s golden boy, and ended up being offered the post of minister of justice. But if you take a closer look at his résumé, it isn’t quite as impressive as you might expect. His references from The Hague are okay but not brilliant, and in his big cases for Thorning & Partners, Stenberg was backed up by a whole team of other lawyers. There were actually a couple of critical articles about that specific point when Stenberg was appointed last autumn. Their authors implied that Stenberg’s résumé had been tailored toward the job of minister of justice, and that his family connections were more significant than his actual abilities.”
“You mean Stenberg’s father-in-law was behind it?”
“That’s what some people have claimed. Others say that John Thorning was involved too. And now there’s a lot of speculation that Stenberg is likely to be appointed chair of his party and therefore quite possibly our next prime minister.”
“So how does this tie in with Sarac’s murder?” Amante asked. “Apart from the fact that Stenberg has a lot to lose.”
She paused again. She knew what she was about to say was going to sound crazy.
“I’m sure you read that article in Dagens Nyheter recently—the one criticizing Stenberg’s plans for the legal system. I’ve had a look at the authors of the article, and one of them works for Thorning & Partners. A couple more have close connections to the firm. John Thorning has a reputation for playing rough. I can’t imagine that any of those lawyers would have put their names to that article without his approval.”
“So, why would John Thorning agree to his protégé being given a public mauling?”
“Good question. The only answer I can come up with is that the two of them had fallen out for some reason. That the article was a warning shot, a little taste of the damage John Thorning could do to Stenberg and his career.”
“If Thorning hadn’t died, you mean?” Amante looked at her. The same mournful, inscrutable expression as always.
“Well, what I really meant,” she said after a brief pause, “is that someone might be protecting Stenberg. Getting rid of anything that could stop him reaching the top. Anything and anyone . . .”
Amante was still staring at her. For a moment she thought he was going to stand up and walk out. And why not? He was suspended and obviously wasn’t doing to
o well. They were investigating a case that was no longer theirs, the murder victim’s body was missing, and their main line of inquiry seemed to point at the minister of justice. And she’d just taken the lead in the competition for biggest tinfoil hat in the room. But instead he remained where he was on the sofa.
“A lot at stake . . .” he muttered. “More than we can imagine, just like Hunter said.”
He said nothing for a few seconds.
“Let’s say I buy your theory. Someone’s protecting Stenberg and is prepared to commit murder for his sake. So, how does the chain of events look, from beginning to end?”
Julia took a deep breath and collected her thoughts.
“I’ve been turning this over in my mind and here’s what I think happened. We can prove some of it, but other parts are qualified guesswork, and some of it’s sheer speculation.”
“Your reservations are hereby noted. Go on, then.” Amante winked at her. For a couple of moments he looked almost normal.
“Okay. Stenberg and Sophie Thorning studied law at the same time. They were part of a wider circle that also included Karolina Cedergren, Stenberg’s future wife. Stenberg and Karolina eventually get married. Villa in Danderyd, two daughters, dog, all that.”
She paused for breath.
“But at some point Stenberg starts having an affair with Sophie Thorning. Probably after he started working at Thorning & Partners, but it could really have been at any time.”
“I’m with you so far.”
“Sophie’s suicide occurred in November of last year, the weekend before the prime minister appointed Jesper Stenberg as minister of justice. Stenberg had probably been offered the post before the weekend, to give him a chance to consider it. Talk it over with family and so on. But as soon as he gets the offer, he realizes that his relationship with Sophie Thorning poses far too great a risk. and he rushes over to see her and put an end to it.”
Amante looked thoughtful. “That sounds logical,” he said.
“Well, all that is really just guesswork. But listen to the rest.”
Julia stood up and started to walk back and forth in the living room.
“During Stenberg’s visit, Sophie Thorning kicks up a fuss. She doesn’t want to break up and they have an argument. One of the neighbors in the building claimed to have heard raised voices, but because he’s halfway to being an alcoholic, his statement was dismissed. Either way, Stenberg leaves the apartment. Sophie Thorning is distraught, and she’s far from stable anyway. Do you remember the photograph of the BMW, the surface it was parked on?” She laid the photograph down. Pointed at the pale area visible at the bottom of the picture.
“Yes,” Amante said. “Concrete, not asphalt. Probably a garage.”
Julia nodded. “I’ve checked, and there’s a large subway garage beneath Sophie’s building. The ramp leading up to the street comes out right beneath one of the windows of Sophie’s apartment. When Stenberg is leaving, she jumps to her death and lands on the hood of his car.”
“Intentionally?” Amante said. “Was she that crazy? Is it even possible to judge a fall that precisely?”
Julia shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t change the result. Stenberg’s mistress, the daughter of his mentor and benefactor, is lying dead on the hood of his car just days before he’s due to be named minister of justice. So, once the initial shock dies down, he makes a drastic decision. Instead of calling the police and emergency services, he reverses back down into the garage, tucks the car away in a corner, and calls Frank Hunter.”
“How do you think they knew each other?”
“Probably from The Hague. I’ve checked and, sure enough, Stenberg was working for the ICC at the same time that Hunter was working at the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. The two courts are based on the same block, and I’m guessing there’s a fair bit of interaction. Or else they just met in one of the cafeterias and realized that they were both Swedish. All it takes is an exchange of business cards. A favor done in one direction, a promise to call if you ever need help, no matter what with.”
“Sounds a bit tenuous,” Amante said, “but not impossible. So Hunter arrives at the scene. He puts Stenberg in a taxi. And then what?”
“First, Hunter hides the body and the car down in the garage. Then he cleans the apartment. Removes anything that could be traced back to Stenberg. Towels, sheets, anything like that. He writes a suicide note on Sophie’s iPad and sends it out by e-mail. Then he goes and gets the body. The elevator goes all the way from the garage straight up to the apartment. He drops Sophie from a different window of the apartment, so that she lands on another car. All that remains is to remove Stenberg’s battered BMW from the scene and get it repaired and cleaned up. Then golden boy Jesper Stenberg can calmly accept his new job as head of the Swedish judicial system. Not a cloud in the sky, if only Sarac hadn’t been obsessed with justice and Hunter needed to swap some information to find out the identity of Sarac’s informant. And those two guys deciding to dive after their lost anchor.”
“Wow.” Amante raised his eyebrows. “Not a bad theory. I’m guessing you’ve thought of some other possibilities as well.”
Julia shrugged her shoulders.
“The alternatives are either that Stenberg killed and dismembered Sarac on his own, or that he hired someone to do it for him. Neither of those fits Stenberg’s personality. He doesn’t seem to have a particularly cool temperament. He could probably talk his way out of Sophie’s suicide, if you get what I mean. ‘It wasn’t my fault, she was already unstable, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why should I be punished because she was crazy?’ ”
Amante nodded.
“But to go from that sort of rationalization to hiring a professional hit man—or, even worse, doing it himself and then going home and patting his children with the hands he just used to chop someone up with—that seems a very big step. Stenberg wasn’t capable of cleaning up after Sophie’s suicide. Can you imagine him taking a chain saw to Sarac’s face?”
Amante slowly shook his head. He seemed to be digesting everything she had said.
“What do we do now? How do we prove that your theory is true? Is it time to talk to someone higher up?”
“Not yet. There are still far too many suppositions and uncertainties for us to take this any further. That photograph of Sophie Thorning’s body would ruin the minister of justice’s career if it was made public. The risk is that it would become the focus of attention and everything else would be forgotten.”
For a moment she imagined Pärson’s face if she were to show him the picture of Sophie’s body on the hood of Stenberg’s car. The wheels would be spinning inside his fat head as he tried to calculate the market value of a government minister’s career.
“But if we’re going to solve the actual murder, we’re still missing both a perpetrator and a murder scene.” Amante frowned and fell silent for a few seconds. “But I think I may have an idea about the latter.”
• • •
Nisse Boman intercepted Stenberg as he crossed the creaking floor outside the dining room.
“Excuse me, Jesper. Just a quick word.”
“Yes?” Stenberg carried on walking toward the large front door of the restaurant. He looked demonstratively at his heavy wristwatch.
“Let me start by congratulating you. Excellent news both for you and for the family.”
Stenberg forced himself to look into the man’s pale eyes. “Thank you, Nisse.”
“I can imagine that things are going to be very different from now on. There’ll be much more attention focused on the family, both desirable and undesirable.”
“Really?” Stenberg stopped. What was the little man getting at?
“Of course you’ve got protection from the Security Police.” Boman nodded toward the two bodyguards who were waiting by the d
oor. “But Karolina and the girls haven’t got anyone to keep an eye on them. I was thinking, that might be a good idea from now on. There are some crazy people out there.”
Stenberg nodded. He hadn’t actually thought that far.
“What do you suggest?”
“I can get ahold of a couple of calm, sensible guys from the Paratroop Regiment with experience in this sort of assignment. We could just call them chauffeurs. The party will cover the cost, obviously. What do you say?”
Stenberg’s first instinct was to say no. That he didn’t want Boman or any of his trusted associates anywhere near his family. But on the other hand Karl-Erik had presumably already agreed to the idea. And if he were to refuse without having a very good justification, it would look like he was putting his family at risk. And what could he say, anyway? That he suspected Boman had murdered both John and Sophie Thorning? And that the whole lot, his accumulated suspicions and nightmares, was pretty much based on one spiteful comment from Oscar Wallin?
“Good idea, Nisse,” he said instead.
He started to walk away, then changed his mind mid-step. He turned back to Boman.
“I appreciate you looking out for my family’s safety.”
“No problem.” Boman looked almost friendly for once. “Like I said, I’d do anything for the Cedergren family.”
That’s what’s worrying me, Stenberg thought.
Thirty-Nine
Julia put her foot down and jerked the car into an unnecessary overtaking maneuver. The car heading toward her in the other lane flashed its lights at her as she pulled back in at the last moment. The automatic transmission changed gears, making the engine quieter, and she saw Amante slump back into his seat.
“Tell me in more detail,” she said. “How did you figure out which building it was?”
Amante cleared his throat. “Well, like I said, I went through all the properties in the vicinity of where the body was found during those first few days when you asked me to call around to see if there were any witnesses. I checked Google Maps and tried to work out which buildings had a clear view of the ice where Sarac’s body was dumped. Then I found out which ones were residential buildings before I started calling around. As you know, that didn’t give us anything: a lot of the properties are summer cottages, and none of the permanent residents had seen anyone out on the ice, apart from people skating when the weather was good enough.”
Ultimatum Page 28
