Arne Dahl - Misterioso

A question had been churning in Hjelm’s mind the whole time. Would it be wise to ask? How would Göran Andersson react? He was even less sure after this weird conversation. Weird by virtue of its apparent normality.

Finally Hjelm decided to ask, possibly against his better judgment. “If you’ve been in contact with Lena, then you must know that she’s carrying your child. How does that child’s future look now?”

Utter silence on the line.

After ten seconds he heard a faint click, and the conversation was over. Hjelm put down the phone, switched off the recorder, plucked out the tape, and went to see Hultin.

“I’ve just talked to him,” said Hjelm.

Hultin looked up from his papers and stared at him through the half-moon lenses of his glasses. “Talked to whom?”

“Göran Andersson.” Hjelm waved the tape.

Hultin pointed at his tape player without changing expression.

They listened to the whole conversation. Once in a while Hjelm thought he might have been unnecessarily passive, and sometimes he’d been downright obtuse, but in general it was a lengthy and astonishing conversation between a serial killer and a police officer.

“I can understand your caution,” said Hultin when the tape was over. “Although maybe you could have fought a little harder to get some leads. But in my opinion there are three clues here: One: Even if we take that final silence to mean that he didn’t know about his fiancée’s pregnancy, he has apparently been in contact with her. She simply hadn’t mentioned that particular detail to him. And with regard to the fact that he made contact with you so soon after you’d been there, it’s likely that they’ve been in contact with each other before; it seems unlikely that their first contact after three and a half months would occur on the very day after you identified him. Holm is going to have put the squeeze on Lena Lundberg down there in Algotsmåla. She knows more than she’s telling us. Two: Andersson responds ‘Not exactly…’ when you say that we’re keeping watch on all of the board members. That may mean that Alf Ruben Winge is the target; he’s the only one that we haven’t yet located. We need to put every effort into finding him. Three: When you ask Andersson whether he’d followed his next victim long enough, he replies ‘Long enough.’ That could mean that he’s ready to proceed tonight. Even though he was active in Göteborg as recently as last night. Okay, that’s not much, but it gives us enough to go on. To summarize: we can probably find out from Lena Lundberg where Andersson has been staying in Stockholm; the next victim is most likely Alf Ruben Winge; and the murder is probably planned for tonight. I’ll call Holm. You call Söderstedt about Winge. Use my cell.”

Hjelm stood motionless for a moment; Hultin really was all fired up. He’d already picked up the receiver and called Kerstin in Växjö. He was almost finished talking by the time Hjelm grabbed Hultin’s cell from the desk and punched in Söderstedt’s number.

“Arto. Winge is going to be the next one, maybe tonight. What have you found out? And where are you, by the way?”

“Here,” Söderstedt said dramatically, throwing open the door. He switched off the cell in his hand. “I was in my office. What have you come up with?”

“Holm is going over to see Lena Lundberg,” Hultin said, seeming not to have noticed Söderstedt’s grand entrance right away. Then he turned to Söderstedt. “Who have you talked to about Winge?”

Söderstedt was quick to reply: “His wife, Camilla, on Narvavägen; two secretaries, or rather office workers, at his company UrboInvest on Sturegatan, Lisa Hägerblad and Wilma Hammar; two of his colleagues at the firm, Johannes Lund and Vilgot Öfverman; plus a neighbor at the closed-up summer house on Värmdö, a Colonel Michel Sköld.”

“How hard did you pressure them?”

“Not particularly hard.”

“Is there any indication at all that anyone knew more than they were telling you? Think carefully.”

“A certain bitterness from his wife… Possibly a general sense of official secrecy at his company.”

“Okay. Do either of you know whether Chavez or Norlander has come back?”

“Both are still out,” said Söderstedt.

“Then we’ll handle this ourselves.” Hultin stood up and put on his jacket. It’s now… five-thirty. Someone may still be at the UrboInvest office; we’ll call on our way over. If no one is there, then we’ll have to look for them elsewhere. And we’ll report all results, positive as well as negative, to each other via cell phone. Avoid using the police radio. I’ll try to get hold of Viggo and Jorge and wait for Kerstin’s call from Algotsmåla. Everything clear?”

“No backup?” Söderstedt asked out in the hall.

“In due time,” said Hultin.

On the steps of police headquarters they ran into Niklas Grundström from Internal Affairs, who glanced at Hjelm. Hjelm automatically paused.

“Riding high on the hog now, Hjelm?” Grundström said quietly.

“Or possibly wallowing in the mud with them,” Hjelm said just as quietly.

“Go on up to see Döös and Grahn,” Hultin said to Grundström. “You’ll find a couple of men who are really in need of your services.”

Grundström watched them run down the stairs, each headed for his own vehicle. Then he went inside and fired the two Säpo agents.

They drove toward Östermalm, racing single file through the rush-hour traffic.

“Vilgot Öfverman is still at the UrboInvest office,” Hjelm reported on his cell. “He’s expecting us. The rest have gone home. I got an address for the office worker, Wilma Hammar, on Artillerigatan. The other two live outside the city. Shall I go see her?”

“Yes,” said Hultin.

The three cars stayed in formation all the way to Humlegården. Just before the intersection of Sturegatan and Karlavägen, Hultin said, “Kerstin reports that she’s over at Lena Lundberg’s home now. She’ll get back to us soon. No contact with Jorge. Viggo is in Ösmo, of all places, checking out an apartment. He’ll join us as soon as he can.”

Söderstedt and Hjelm turned right onto Karlavägen while Hultin continued for some distance along Sturegatan. After a few blocks, Hjelm turned onto Artillerigatan while Söderstedt headed toward Karlaplan and Narvavägen.

Hjelm rang the buzzer labeled “Hammar” and was admitted by a polite male voice. The door on the fourth floor was opened by the owner of that voice, if a voice can really be said to have an owner. A pipe-smoking, solid-looking man, in what is usually called late middle age.

“Criminal Police,” said Hjelm, waving his ID. The man looked utterly confused. “I’m looking for Wilma Hammar. It’s urgent.”

“Come in,” said the man, then shouted, “Wilma! The police!”

Wilma Hammar appeared from the kitchen regions, drying her hands on a dish towel. She was short and stocky and about fifty.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” said Hjelm hastily. “I think you know what this is about. We believe your boss, Alf Ruben Winge, is in mortal danger, and we had the impression from our earlier visit that we hadn’t heard the whole truth about his absence.”

Wilma Hammar shook her head, looking staunchly loyal at whatever the cost. “He disappears for a couple of days every month or so, as I told the other officer. I’m not privy to what he does.”

“Periodic binges, if you ask me,” said her husband, sucking on his pipe.

“Rolf!” said Wilma.

“Do you know about the Power Murders-” Hjelm began just as his cell phone rang.

“Okay,” said Söderstedt on the line. “His wife openly confessed this time-she’s quite drunk. He’s got a mistress. I repeat, he’s got a mistress. His wife doesn’t know who she is, but she’s expressed an interest in biting off the woman’s nipples if we find her.”