Ultimatum

by Anders de la Motte

  “I know what happened to John Thorning and David Sarac. Why they died.”

  The wrinkle between Karl-Erik’s eyebrows deepened, but Stenberg wasn’t about to let him speak—not yet.

  “On one level I can actually understand your reasoning. The calculations you made. I let you down, Karl-Erik. I betrayed you and Karolina. And you’d invested far too much, spent too many years stubbornly slaving away in the shadow of pompous idiots like the prime minister to let it all run into the sand.”

  He paused for a moment to moisten his lips. Karl-Erik’s face was rigid. It looked like a mask.

  “A short while ago I had a visit from a Detective Inspector Julia Gabrielsson. She had evidence including, among other things, an extremely compromising photograph that David Sarac is supposed to have sent me. A picture that would have ruined my career. But someone got there first and snapped up Sarac’s e-mail before it reached me and arranged a meeting with him in my name. Gabrielsson told me what happened to Sarac down in your boathouse. What he was subjected to . . .”

  Stenberg could feel his shirt sticking damply to his back.

  “I did what you would have done, Karl-Erik. I made a deal with her. Agreed to her ultimatum.”

  A flicker of movement in the mask. An expression Stenberg had trouble interpreting. But he wasn’t going to let himself be put off now.

  “Gabrielsson is going to make sure it all disappears: pictures, evidence, the lot. She only wants one thing in return. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say: one person.”

  Stenberg paused for breath. His speech was almost over now. All that remained was the final demand.

  “The murderer has to take his punishment, Karl-Erik,” he said in his most persuasive courtroom voice. “Julia Gabrielsson could demolish everything we’ve built up. We have no choice but to do as she wants. Boman . . .” He forced the words out. “We have to sacrifice Boman.”

  Karl-Erik got up slowly from his chair. He stood still in front of Stenberg’s desk for a few seconds, his back militarily straight, his face almost the same rigid mask as before. The only difference was a tiny, barely perceptible trace of anxiety. Unless it was something else?

  “Jesper,” he said, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

  Karl-Erik turned around and walked over to the door, unlocked it, and left the room without looking back.

  Stenberg loosened his tie and unbuttoned the sweaty collar of his shirt. He went over to the little basin, looked in the mirror for a few seconds, then rolled his sleeves up and washed his hands, all the way up to his elbows. He scrubbed so hard that his skin stung.

  Fifty-Six

  Julia Gabrielsson parked a short distance away at Tegelbacken. She could just make out Stenberg’s windows through the tops of the trees in Rosenbadsparken. She didn’t really know why she was sitting there in the car. She had done what she could. Said what she had to say. Yet she was still there. Wanted to be there when it happened.

  Two big live-broadcast vans were parked in Fredsgatan, around the corner from Rosenbad. People were hurrying back and forth to the vehicles; they seemed to be laying cables. A patrol car was parked in front of them and she could see two uniformed officers keeping an eye on the media circus. She turned her car radio on, found the news channel, and pushed her seat back slightly. Nearby, some road workers began using a pneumatic drill, forcing her to turn the radio up.

  A little over an hour ago a number of people were found dead in an office building in Sollentuna. The Stockholm Police have yet to issue a statement, but sources indicate that one of the bodies is that of a police officer . . .

  She leaned over and lowered the volume. At the same time she thought she could see a silhouette in one of Stenberg’s windows. The sound of the drill continued to echo off the buildings.

  • • •

  Jesper Stenberg looked out across the treetops toward Riddarholmen. At last, the feeling was back. Total, absolute presence.

  He looked at the time. Twenty minutes left before he had to go downstairs, shake the prime minister’s hand, and stand at the podium. Lean toward the microphones and say how happy and grateful he was to have received the boss’s endorsement. That he would do his best for the party in his new role, was looking forward to the coming election campaign, blah, blah, blah. Live broadcast on both radio and television, at least fifty reporters in the room, and just as many party dignitaries and principal mourners.

  Karl-Erik would be standing there, watching him. He would come to the same conclusion that Stenberg had, if he hadn’t already done so. Boman was a pawn, a piece to be sacrificed to gain a better position. To win the game.

  He didn’t hear Karolina come into the room, didn’t know she was there until she touched his arm.

  “Jesper.”

  He jerked. Turned around. She had a serious look on her face.

  “I just spoke to Daddy. He’s worried about you. Said you weren’t making much sense. That you were talking about John Thorning.”

  It took Stenberg a few moments to absorb what she had said. Then he understood. This was his father-in-law’s petty act of vengeance. Revenge for having to lose his faithful servant. Dripping a couple of well-chosen words in Karolina’s ear to demonstrate that she was still Daddy’s dutiful instrument.

  “I think your father misunderstood me,” he murmured.

  “I hope so. Because you can’t seriously believe that he could have had someone killed. Or that Nisse Boman is some sort of professional hit man?”

  His brain seized up and couldn’t find any sort of comprehensible explanation.

  “Well, I . . .”

  “Yes?” She tilted her head. “What were you going to say?”

  He took a deep breath, trying in vain to marshal his thoughts.

  “How about ‘Thank you’?” she said. “ ‘Thank you, Karolina, for being such an understanding wife. For letting me have an affair with that whore Sophie Thorning ever since we were at university. Thank you for playing dumb, for pretending not to notice the furtive glances, or the smell of her cunt when I crept into bed shamefaced at night.’ ”

  The corners of her mouth turned up into a contorted smile he had never seen before.

  “I let you do it, and do you know why? Because I knew that Sophie would arrange for you to become one of John’s protégés. That was the price I paid to get John Thorning on our side. A reasonable price, until she started to threaten our family.”

  Stenberg opened his mouth but still couldn’t manage to utter a single word.

  “Do you know, there’s an app that scans keys?” Karolina continued. “It takes ten seconds, then you can order a copy online. So easy to do on one of the many occasions Sophie asked me to look after her handbag.”

  She stroked his cheek.

  “I used to go around to her apartment when she was away. I’d walk through the rooms, look in drawers, lie on her bed. Imagine the pair of you fucking in it. But when you were offered the post of justice minister, I realized that the risk had grown too big. I let you think I was going out with the girls, then I went around to Sophie’s to talk to her, explain that it was all over. But when I was standing outside the door I heard voices. I realized that you were already there, doing the same thing. I heard what she screamed at you. She could have ruined everything we’d worked for, all the sacrifices we’d made . . .”

  She paused, then lowered her voice.

  “After you left, I went into the apartment and saw her standing by the open window, leaning out. It wasn’t difficult to . . .” She threw one hand out. “It was only later that I realized Sophie was planning to yell at you when you drove out of the garage. And that she’d actually landed right on your car.”

  Stenberg gasped for air. It felt like the room was slowly starting to revolve counterclockwise. He closed his eyes and tried to sort his head out, but failed. T
he silhouette in the window from his dreams popped into his mind. But it was no longer Boman standing up there, leaning out and looking him in the eye. It was Karolina.

  “When the e-mail from David Sarac appeared in the in-box of your computer at home, I was furious. Not so much with you, but myself. I’d been sloppy; I’d put us in unnecessary danger. So I arranged to meet him in the boathouse. He was never supposed to appear again, but when he did, all I had to do was make a discreet phone call to the national police chief. Ask her to make sure that the investigation into the unidentified body at Källstavik didn’t cause any problems for the party. Especially not now, before the election. Eva Swensk is loyal: she knows who she’s got to thank for her job, and how to make sure that a case ends up buried deep within police bureaucracy.”

  “John Thorning,” he said. His voice sounded like a whisper. The room was still spinning. Everything felt unreal, almost like a dream.

  “John was a bit more difficult. But we couldn’t just leave him, not after Daddy had made a fool of himself offering him that ambassadorial post. Another mistake that I had to put right.” She smiled again. “Do you know, there are certain substances in migraine medication that you really shouldn’t take if you suffer from angina?”

  “You switched his pills,” Stenberg said incredulously.

  “It was actually a bit more complicated than that. John’s medicine came in capsule form. I’d seen him take it on a few occasions. So I ground up some of my migraine pills with a pestle and mortar and kept the powder in a little bag in my handbag. When I was dancing with him at the party, I got him to take off his jacket, which contained the bottle of pills. I went into the toilet and emptied the capsules, then filled them with the powder. After that, it was just a matter of waiting. It actually happened quicker than I expected.”

  “But what if they’d done an autopsy?”

  “Really, Jesper. John was almost seventy. He had a hectic lifestyle, he’d already had one heart attack, and he was taking medication for angina. Why would they conduct an autopsy? And even if they did, it would only look like he’d taken a few of his wife’s migraine pills.”

  Stenberg shook his head disbelievingly. “You can’t be serious?”

  “I did what needed to be done, Jesper. I kept my eye on the prize, thought about the fantastic future that lay ahead of us. That still lies ahead of us.”

  She took hold of his arm and shook it gently.

  “I can explain to Daddy. I’ll tell him that what you said was a joke, some sort of misunderstanding. He’ll believe me. After all, people hear what they want to hear, don’t they? And you don’t have to worry about that Gabrielsson either. All you have to do now, Jesper . . .”

  She raised her hands toward his neck and, to his own surprise, he found himself jerking back slightly. Then he realized she was reaching for his tie to straighten it.

  “. . . is go downstairs and give the best speech you’ve ever made. Make the words sound genuine and heartfelt, the way only you can. Talk about all the things you’ll be able to do for the party, for the country.”

  She pulled his tie tighter than necessary. Looked him right in the eye without taking her fingers from the knot. His collar dug into his neck and throat, and forced him to swallow hard. There was a flicker of movement outside the window. A chalk-white seagull was hovering out there, almost motionless. Staring at Stenberg with its empty, dead eyes.

  “Can you do that, Jesper?” she said.

  • • •

  The knock on the driver’s-side window took Julia by surprise. Made her heart start beating unnaturally hard.

  A man in a suit was standing outside the car, gesturing to her to open the window. He was waving something that looked like police ID.

  “You can’t stay here,” he said. “No parking.”

  “I’m police too.” She held up her own ID. “Regional Crime. What department are you?”

  The man smiled at her. He looked pleasant. Familiar too, but she couldn’t quite remember why. The pneumatic drill that had been quiet for a while started up again, forcing the man to lean closer to her.

  “Personal Protection,” he said.

  “Oh, so you’ve got one of the ministers.” She nodded toward Rosenbad.

  “That’s right.”

  “Which one?” she said. At that moment she realized where she’d seen the man before.

  • • •

  Jesper Stenberg stood quite still at the podium as the cameras flashed. The prime minister had just introduced him. All eyes were on him now.

  He could hear every sound, see every nuance of color, in the fireworks display taking place in front of him. He knew that this moment would engrave itself on his memory—would be there for the rest of his life.

  He looked at the audience, trying to find some familiar faces. But the spotlights and flashes were blinding him, turning the people in front of him into dark shapes with barely discernible features. He thought he could see his father-in-law’s stern expression, and Oscar Wallin standing over by the door. But then another flash blinded him and Wallin was gone. He screwed his eyes up and suddenly thought he could see John Thorning sitting next to David Sarac in the front row. Then more flashes made the two men disappear into the darkness.

  Ghosts in your mind, Jesper. Pull yourself together, for God’s sake.

  He looked down at the podium. Saw the sheet of prompts. The letters blurred and formed a sludgy mess.

  “Thank you,” he heard himself say. “It truly is a great honor for me to be standing here . . .”

  He looked up and turned to the closest television camera. Sophie Thorning was standing right beside it. White dress, white shoes.

  He could still see her falling.

  See her hang between ground and sky, with her eyes open wide, her mouth gaping, for a moment almost weightless. And then he heard the sound when she stopped being weightless. A muffled, awful sound—a sigh, rather than a bang. The sound of something breaking. Something that could never be mended.

  A necessary sacrifice.

  It was her or you.

  You had no choice.

  “. . . and therefore it is a matter of great regret that I must for personal reasons decline the prime minister’s offer,” he went on.

  The whole room seemed to stop.

  “Sadly, my wife is suffering from a serious illness. Karolina has always been my main support in life, my rock. She has made huge sacrifices for my sake, more than anyone has any right to expect. Now that she is facing a great challenge, it is therefore no more than right that I do the same for her. Mental illness isn’t something that is often talked about, but Karolina and I have decided to be completely open. Our hope is that we can help show that mental illness is a problem that can afflict anyone. An illness that can be treated, and that ought not to be a source of shame.”

  He changed camera and adjusted his voice and body language.

  “Before I finish, I’d like to ask you to respect our desire to be left in peace as far as possible. Karolina, I, and our daughters would like to thank you in advance for your consideration at this difficult time.”

  Stenberg smiled his very saddest smile. Questions rained down on him, forming a maelstrom of voices. He tried to catch sight of Karolina. He found her in the second row, only a few meters from where he had imagined he’d seen Sophie Thorning. She was looking at him, meeting his gaze. She nodded slowly. When the next flash went off, she was gone.

  • • •

  An agitated commentator’s voice took over on the radio and Julia turned the volume up.

  “Bloody hell,” Becker said, leaning against the door of her car. “The Stenberg family has certainly been keeping that quiet. I only saw Karolina Stenberg an hour or so ago, and she seemed the same as usual. We even spent a few minutes talking about exercise. She said she was going to ski in the Vasa cross-country
race next year.”

  Julia got out of the car to stretch her legs and looked up toward Rosenbad again. Something toward the top of the facade caught her eye. A curtain billowing in the wind.

  For some reason the piece of fabric filled her with unease. She pointed up at the building and shouted to make herself heard over the sound of the pneumatic drill.

  “Look, am I wrong or is that Stenberg’s window open up there?”

  Becker looked to where she was pointing. He started to walk with long strides toward the building. Julia half ran after him, more out of instinct than for any actual reason. There was something not quite right.

  She caught up with him as they entered the park. A moment later they saw the body by the wall.

  Karolina Stenberg was lying on her stomach. Her head was turned to one side, her eyes staring blankly at them, almost in surprise, as the pool of blood slowly spread across the pavement.

  Becker threw himself down on his knees beside the body. He felt Karolina’s neck and yelled something into the microphone fastened to his wrist. He was rattling off orders that Julia couldn’t hear. The sound of the pneumatic drill had gotten even louder, echoing between the buildings in a rhythm she could feel in her gut.

  She stared at Karolina Stenberg’s outstretched hand. It was large, its fingers long and strong. The hand of someone who could handle practically any tool.

  People came running out from the entrance. Guards, police officers, followed by journalists. The first camera began to click. Firing off flashes. It was joined by others.

  Julia took a few steps back from the growing crowd surrounding the body and looked up at the window. The curtain was still fluttering mournfully up above. There was a hint of a figure, a man leaning out of the window slightly.

  Their eyes met. For a moment time seemed to slow down. Movement and sound switched to slow motion. The drill went on drilling. Hammering down through the asphalt and concrete like a racing metallic heart, before it suddenly stopped. Pausing time for an instant of utter silence.