Colin Forbes - The Stockholm syndicate

In a deceptively detached tone, Beaurain said, "They are killing everyone who has knowledge of the heroin. First the inspector they bought or intimidated. Then the two railway men both of whom must have known the approximate location of the suitcase. That is the Syndicate's method of protecting its investment. Effective, you must admit."

"It's overkill."

"Face it, Marker — the Syndicate runs one of the most efficient killing machines known in history — and each death is exploited to terrorise the maximum number of people who can be of service to the Syndicate in the future. Someone has thought up a foolproof system. Louise and I must go now," he ended coldly.

"I will give you a lift to the railway station."

During the journey Beaurain only spoke once, seated in the back of the car with Louise. She was looking out to sea when he asked for a cigarette: bits of bodies were beginning to float through the harbour entrance and he didn't want her subjected to any more harrowing experiences. During the ride to the railway station Marker relapsed into a sombre silence, staring through the windscreen without seeing anything. Beaurain was relieved when the Dane told his driver to drop them a distance from the station and wait for him. The three of them walked slowly towards where it had all started — the exit from Elsinore railway station.

It's such an attractive town," Louise said. "All the houses old but freshly painted…"

She ended in mid-sentence and Beaurain gave her elbow a reassuring hug. She had been going to add something like, 'for such a ghastly horror to be perpetrated here," Beaurain noticed that both his companions studiously avoided looking to their left over the harbour to the sea beyond. There was also an unnaturally quiet atmosphere among the people walking about who were staring seaward. Probably a number of them were in the habit of crossing over to Sweden from time to time. Using the car-ferries.

"While at the police station I asked about the enquiries I made about Dr. Benny Horn," Marker said in a dull voice. "About his background and history, what he was like when he lived here in Elsinore. I must say they had responded to my request quickly. And they had showed around the photo I had taken of Horn in Copenhagen — I sent that out by despatch rider before I left the city."

"And what did you find?"

"A few people who knew him when he lived here recognised the photo, others didn't."

"What proportion?" There was an eager alertness in Beaurain's voice and manner.

"Fifty-fifty. The normal proportion," Marker replied in the same dull tone. He was, Louise realised, still in a state of semi-shock, overwhelmed by the power and ruthlessness of the Stockholm Syndicate. "Horn lived the same sort of hermit-like existence in Elsinore that he does in Copenhagen," Marker continued. "He was unmarried, had no relatives and spent a lot of time away from the place travelling presumably to sell and buy rare editions,"

"How long had he lived in Elsinore?" Beaurain persisted.

"About twenty years. And he had his place a short distance outside the town in a very quiet area. That's all I could find out." He stopped suddenly on the sidewalk and turned to Beaurain, his brow crinkled in perplexity and frustration. "It doesn't make sense at all, does it?" he burst out.

"No, it doesn't."

"What doesn't? Am I being dim?" Louise enquired.

"No," Beaurain replied, 'but I think Bodel means this. For at least twenty years we have a man leading an apparently respectable and sober existence. All right, he keeps himself to himself, a bit like Silas Marner. Then this same man moves to Copenhagen — when would you say, Bodel?"

"About two years ago."

"He moves to Copenhagen two years ago," Beaurain went on, 'and what happens — almost overnight? He becomes one of the three men we think control the Stockholm Syndicate,"

"I see what you mean," Louise said slowly. "No, it doesn't make any sense."

They had reached the concourse in front of the station where they had left the 280E parked, and Marker forced himself to speak with false exuberance. "Well, what are you going to do now, Jules? Is there any way in which I can help you?"

"Drive back to Copenhagen after we've had lunch and think things over a bit. Thanks for your help and I know where to find you. I suppose you'll be staying on here for a while,"

Beaurain nodded in the direction of where a fleet of rescue and police craft were beyond the harbour poking around among the rapidly dispersing wreckage. Marker said yes, he would be staying on in Elsinore, shook them both solemnly by the hand and walked away slowly back to where his car was waiting.

"What are we actually going to do?" Louise asked. "I know you didn't tell Marker the truth. And where are Henderson and his team of gunners?"

"Back on board Firestorm by now. I told him to leave once we had seen the ferry carrying the heroin depart. And Captain Buckminster has fresh instructions — to sail through the Oresund and wait at anchorage off Copenhagen. As for us, you are right, of course. I wasn't at all frank with Marker and not because I don't trust him. But suppose the Syndicate did locate where he has hidden his family. How long do you think he would resist their pressure for information?"

"How long could you expect him to?" Louise shuddered and compelled herself to look out to sea where the flock of boats was milling round aimlessly. One large launch was trawling over the side what looked to Louise like a shallow net. "What is that thing, Jules? The boat with a loud-hailer keeping other craft away?"

"That will be Forensic. They will be gathering specimens of the debris for later analysis in the laboratory. That way they hope to discover what explosive was used."

"Let's get back to Copenhagen and then?"

"Stockholm,"

Beaurain paused as he took one last look at the confused armada beyond the harbour as if he wanted to imprint the scene on his memory. There was a set look to his expression; in some odd way he seemed to have grown younger rather than older, a youthfulness tinged with a merciless ferocity.

Beaurain made one more phone call before he left the Royal Hotel while Louise obtained flight reservations from the SAS airline counter in the hall adjoining the ground floor of the hotel. The call was to Chief Inspector Willy Flamen of Homicide in Brussels.

As he expected, Flamen was ready with the information he needed; in a very short time he had thoroughly investigated the early history and background of Dr. Otto Berlin, dealer in rare books.

Berlin came from Liege, one of Belgium's largest cities, where he had built up a small but apparently lucrative business as a dealer in rare stamps. Part of his success lay in the fact that, unlike some of his European competitors, he was willing to travel any distance to conclude a worthwhile deal.

"You did say stamp dealer, Willy," Beaurain queried. "He's in rare books now surely?"

"Quite correct. He switched from stamps to books immediately on his arrival in Bruges about two years ago."

Goldschmidt's photograph of Otto Berlin had been shown to the few people who had known Berlin in Liege. Flamen explained that Berlin was a bachelor, apparently totally absorbed in developing his business and with no close friends. Shown the photograph, the few people who had known him by sight had roughly divided into two sections those who firmly said the picture was of Otto Berlin and those who said they didn't recognise it.

Flamen went on to explain that Otto Berlin had lived for about fifteen years in Liege before moving to Bruges. That was all Flamen had been able to come up with so far. There was an apologetic note in his voice but also, behind that, Beaurain thought he detected some other unspoken doubt. He tackled Flamen directly on the point.