Arne Dahl - Misterioso

Both men shook their heads.

Hultin gave a slight nod. “Okay,” he said. “Söderstedt?”

“I’ve been thinking about this idea of a serial killer,” he said, speaking with a Finnish intonation. “From an international perspective, we’re a bit premature. Two similar murders really means nothing more than two similar murders-”

“Granted,” Hultin interrupted him. “But in the guidelines presented by Commissioner Mörner and the NCP director, as well as the inner circle of the National Police Board, the aspects of protection were emphasized. That’s why we’re treating this as a serial murder case even before it officially takes on that definition. Besides, I’m convinced that that’s what it is. And when it comes right down to it, my judgment is what steers the direction of this investigation.”

Whoops , thought Hjelm. That’s Detective Superintendent Jan-Olov Hultin’s first display of power .

But Söderstedt wasn’t about to budge. “I was just thinking about the fact that serial murders are very ‘in’ at the moment. It’s easy to be led astray by American perversities. That madman Jeffrey Dahmer was sentenced to life in prison for having killed, dismembered, and eaten seventeen black youths. His father wrote a best seller about what it was like to have such a monster for a son. Both the father and Dahmer himself have become rich on the crimes. Sympathizers, some of them from South Africa, have sent him money in prison, and plenty of magazines in the United States make heroes out of serial killers and mass murderers. It’s related to the fact that their society is on the verge of collapse. A widespread feeling of general frustration makes it possible for an entire nation to empathize with extremists and sick outsiders. Their disregard for all social rules exerts a strong fascination, so strong that people will even send money to a mass murderer. Sort of a retroactive reward. But the victims are always small and weak, and their only shared characteristic, as reported in the media, is the fact that they became victims. We need to ask ourselves what sort of effect this kind of mess could have on the national soul of the Swedish people. There’s no such thing as a simple act.”

Hjelm flinched.

“Söderstedt, I’ve heard from Västerås that you have a tendency to go off on tangents,” said Hultin, his tone neutral. “Let’s stay on topic. What about the financial aspect?”

“I just think we shouldn’t lose perspective,” muttered Söderstedt as he looked through his thick stack of printouts. “As you mentioned, Hultin, it’s a real hodgepodge. I’ve only been able to scratch the surface. Daggfeldt had two large companies that were under his sole ownership: the finance firm of DandFinans AB with four subsidiaries; and the import company MalackaImport AB. He was also part owner of eight other smaller enterprises, three of them holding companies. And he had a huge stock portfolio, primarily with shares in all five of the country’s biggest export corporations. Strand-Julén’s main company is called simply Strand-Julén Finans AB, with a bunch of interlocking holding companies attached to it. His business ventures are even more difficult to delineate than Daggfeldt’s, if that’s possible.”

“One question,” said Hjelm. “What’s a holding company?”

All eyes of the A-Unit seemed to turn on him at once.

“All muscles and no brains,” he said apologetically.

“A holding company is a management company that owns shares in other businesses,” said Söderstedt.

“Is that all it does?”

“Yes. The only company that I’ve found with any connection to trade and industry-to the production of goods-is Daggfeldt’s import firm, which imports canned goods from the Far East. You can find them in any well-stocked grocery store. And that’s only indirect production. We still use industrial yardsticks when we look at the postindustrial world of business. So in that sense Strand-Julén owned shares en masse, but he also had a personal portfolio comparable to Daggfeldt’s. I haven’t been able to find any link between their business activities. But both owned stock in Electrolux, Volvo, and ABB-as do so many people. Perhaps the most interesting connection is the fact that they both owned shares in the little glass factory Hyltefors in Småland. Maybe that has some significance.”

“Have you checked with the financial police?” asked Hultin.

“That’s the first thing I did. Both men were involved in ongoing tax cases-the kind that drag on for years and then simply go up in smoke, as the bite is gradually taken out of the tax laws. Daggfeldt ruined his first partner, Unkas Storm, as Nyberg mentioned, and was accused of fraud. He was acquitted. Otherwise nothing.”

“Chavez,” said Hultin. “The board memberships.”

“Also a mess,” said Chavez, getting tangled up in a long sheaf of printouts, “although on a smaller scale. They were on a total of seventeen boards, either separately or together. They were both members on eight of them: Sandvik, 1978-83; Ericsson, 1984-87; SellFinans, 1985; Skanska, 1986-88; Bosveden, 1986-89; Sydbanken, 1987-01; and MEMAB, 1990. During the period before they were killed, they sat on only one board together, which is not without a certain irony: the Fonus Funeral Company, from 1990 on.”

“So at least we now know which undertaker will be hired,” Söderstedt remarked.

“But doesn’t this imply that they knew each other?” said Viggo Norlander.

“They must have known each other,” said Hjelm.

“On the other hand,” said Chavez, “plenty of people sit on any given board of directors, and they hold regular meetings only a few times a year. It’s possible to be on the same board with somebody without exchanging a single word, and maybe without even knowing that the other person exists.”

“Don’t the membership periods seem rather short?” said Holm. “A few years with each board?”

“What I’ve reported are the years when they were both on the same board,” said Chavez. “Each of them was generally a member for a longer period of time. For example, Daggfeldt was still a member of the Skanska board up until his death, while Strand-Julén had left in 1988. On the other hand, he’d been a member since 1979. It’s much the same situation with the other boards.”

“And the Fonus connection doesn’t lead anywhere?” said Norlander.

“Just into the coffin, maybe… Of course it’s of interest that they were both on that board when they died. Daggfeldt was a member for eight years, while Strand-Julén had been on the board for fourteen.”

“Okay,” said Hultin, writing and drawing arrows. “Hjelm’s turn.”

“I didn’t find any connections at the boat club, but a man by the name of Arthur Lindviken had an entire file of blackmail-worthy items in his wall safe. Apparently he’s seen all sorts of things going on at the Viggbyholm small-boat marina. Under S I found a rather stiff postcard.” He held up the picture of Dionysus. “A guy by the name of Jörgen Lindén wrote his phone number on it along with a cozy little greeting. He was the one who told me about Strand-Julén’s escapades on his boat. There was nothing in the file folder under D .”

“Have you picked up Lindviken and Lindén?” asked Hultin calmly. “Both appear to be felons.”

“No,” said Hjelm.

“Good,” said Hultin.

“At the golf course I found no direct connection either, just the fact that both men seemed to be frequent guests. But I did confiscate the club’s so-called guest books, in which the golfers write down their names before they play. I haven’t gone through them yet. The third leisure activity shared by both men was membership in a small organization that goes by the name of the Order of Mimir. It apparently carries out some sort of Nordic pagan rituals, but the rites are top, top secret.”