by Lars Kepler
The forensic technician’s protective mats have been removed and the floor underneath the ceiling lamp in the empty salon has been scrubbed.
They step lightly across the creaking parquet floor. There seems to be no lasting impression of Palmcrona’s suicide. Now the place appears merely uninhabited. Joona and Saga both feel that the large rooms, almost empty of furniture, are now filled with a quiet sense of peace.
“The housekeeper’s still taking care of the place,” Saga says as she realises what’s behind the change.
“Exactly,” Joona says and then smiles. The housekeeper has been there to clean the apartment, air out the rooms, carry in the post, and change the linen.
Both of them understand that this is not unusual after a sudden death. People refuse to accept that their lives are going to change. Instead, they keep on with the old routine.
The doorbell rings. Saga looks a little concerned, but she follows Joona back to the hallway. The outer door is opened by a man with a shaved head and dressed in a black, baggy tracksuit.
“Joona told me to toss my hamburger aside and get over here pronto,” says Johan.
“This is Johan Jönson from our computer tech division,” Joona explains.
“Joona drive car,” Johan says with an exaggerated Finnish accent. “Road swerve, Joona no swerve.”
“Saga Bauer is an investigator with Säpo’s security department,” Joona continues.
“We work, we no talk, right?” asks Johan Jönson.
“Cut that out,” says Saga.
“We have to look at Palmcrona’s computer,” Joona says. “How long will it take?”
They start walking towards Palmcrona’s home office.
“You want to use it as evidence?” asks Johan.
“Yes,” says Joona.
“So you want me to copy the data?” asks Johan.
“How long will it take?” Joona repeats.
“You’ll have time to tell a few jokes to our colleague from Säpo,” Johan answers without moving.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Saga asks, irritated.
“By the way, are you dating anyone?” Johan asks with a shy smile.
Saga looks Johan straight in the eye and makes a definite nod. Johan looks down and mumbles something before he quickly follows Joona into Carl Palmcrona’s office.
Joona borrows a pair of protective gloves from Saga and flips through the mail in the in-tray on the desk but doesn’t see anything special. There’s not much to see. A few letters from the bank and the accountant, some information from the governmental offices, test results from a back specialist at Sophia Hospital, and the minutes of the spring condo association meeting with ballot results.
They go back into the room where soft music had surrounded the hanging body. Joona sits down on a Carl Malmsten sofa and carefully waves his hand across the narrow ray of ice-blue light emanating from the music system. At once, the music of a single violin starts streaming through the speakers. A fragile melody sounds in the highest register, but carrying the temperament of a nervous bird.
Joona looks at his watch and then leaves Saga by the music system to walk back to the home office. Johan Jönson is no longer there. He’s sitting with his own computer at the kitchen table.
“Did it work?” asks Joona.
“What?”
“Could you copy Palmcrona’s data?”
“Of course. This is an exact copy,” Johan answers as if the very question is incomprehensible.
Joona walks around the table to look at the monitor.
“And his e-mail?”
Johan opens the program.
“Ta-da!” he says.
“We’ll go through everything from the past week,” Joona continues.
“Let’s start with the in-box.”
“Yes, let’s.”
“Do you think Saga likes me?” Johan asks.
“No,” Joona says.
“Love often begins with an argument.”
“So try pulling her hair.” Joona grins and then he points at the screen.
Johan opens the in-box and smiles.
“Jackpot!” he says in English. “Voitto!” he adds in Finnish.
Joona sees three messages from [email protected].
“Open them,” he says.
Johan clicks on the first one and instantly Björn Almskog’s e-mail covers the entire screen.
“Jesus Christ Superstar,” whispers Johan in English.
44
the e-mails
Saga Bauer comes up behind Joona and Johan as they read the e-mail through again.
“Find something?” she asks.
The men nod and keep reading.
“Let’s see the next,” Joona says, and Johan eagerly clicks on another e-mail from [email protected]. They read it through twice, and repeat the routine one last time as Saga tries to read over Joona’s shoulder.
“So you can see,” says Joona at last, “on the second of June, Carl Palmcrona received a blackmail letter sent by Björn Almskog from an anonymous e-mail address.”
“So that’s what this is about: blackmail,” Saga says.
“But I’m not sure that’s the whole story,” Joona replies.
He then reports what he has found out about Carl Palmcrona’s final days.
On 2 June, Palmcrona and Gerald James of the Technical-Scientific Advisory Committee had gone to the munitions factory of Silencia Defense in Trollhättan. That morning, he’d received an e-mail from Björn Almskog, but had probably not read it until evening, because he did not reply until six twenty-five. In his reply, Palmcrona warns the extortionist of terrible consequences.
At lunchtime the next day, not having heard back from Björn, Palmcrona sends a second e-mail to Björn, this time saying that he’s resigned to the consequences he’d warned of earlier. It was at that point that he’d probably attached the noose to the ceiling lamp and had asked his housekeeper to leave him in peace. Once she’d gone, he’d turned on the music, walked into the smaller salon, placed his briefcase on end, climbed onto it to put the noose around his neck, and then kicked the briefcase away.
It was after Palmcrona’s death that Björn’s second e-mail arrived in Palmcrona’s in-box, and the day after that, a final e-mail.
Joona sets the five e-mails in sequence on the table, so that he and Saga can read through the entire correspondence.
The first e-mail from Björn Almskog is dated Wednesday, 2 June, at 11:37 a.m.:
Dear Mr Palmcrona
I am writing to inform you that I’ve come into possession of an awkward original photograph. It shows you sitting in a private box and drinking champagne with Raphael Guidi. Since I understand that this photograph could bring trouble to you, I am willing to sell it to you for the sum of one million crowns. As soon as you place the money in transit account 837-9 222701730, the photograph will be sent to your home address and all correspondence will be deleted.
Greetings from a “skunk”
The reply from Carl Palmcrona is dated Wednesday, 2 June, at 6:25 p.m.:
I do not know who you are, but I do know you have no idea what you are getting yourself into. You must have absolutely no clue.
I warn you, therefore, that this is a very serious matter and I ask that you send me this photograph before it is too late.
On Thursday, 3 June, at 2:02 p.m., clearly not having heard from Björn, Palmcrona sends a second reply:
It is already too late. We are both dead men.
Björn sends a response to that two hours later:
All right, I’ll do as you ask.
And Björn Almskog sends a third e-mail the following day, Friday, 4 June, at 7:44 a.m.:
Dear Mr Palmcrona
I’ve sent the photograph. Forget I even tried to contact you.
Greetings from a “skunk”
After reading through the e-mails twice, Saga looks up at Joona.
“So Björn Almskog wants to sell a compromising photograph to Palmcr
ona. It’s obvious that Palmcrona believes him but also that the photograph is much more dangerous than Björn imagined. Palmcrona warns Björn that he’s not going to hand over any money and even seems to believe the mere existence of this photograph threatens both their lives.”
“So what do you think happened next?” asks Joona.
“Palmcrona waits for an answer by e-mail or by regular post,” Saga says. “When there’s no reply, he sends his second message warning that they will both die.”
“And then Palmcrona hangs himself,” says Joona.
“When Björn shows up at the internet café and reads Palmcrona’s second e-mail—‘It is already too late. We are both dead men’—he gets scared and replies he’ll do just what Palmcrona asked.”
“Without knowing that Palmcrona is already dead.”
“Right,” Saga says. “It is already too late and anything Björn can do now will be in vain.”
“He seems to panic after receiving Palmcrona’s second e-mail. He gives up any idea of blackmail and now just wants to get out.”
“But the problem is, the photograph in question is taped to Penelope’s door.”
“So he doesn’t have a chance to get at it until she leaves for the TV studio,” Joona continues. “He waits outside, watches Penelope leave in a taxi, rushes in, sees the little girl on the stairs, gets into the apartment, rips the photo from the glass door, takes the underground, posts the photo to Palmcrona, and then sends Palmcrona an e-mail. Then he goes to his apartment on Pontonjärgatan 47, packs for the boat trip, takes the bus to Södermalm, and hurries to his boat anchored at Långholmen Harbour.”
“So what makes you think that this is bigger than common blackmail?”
“Because Björn’s apartment was completely destroyed by a fire barely four hours after he’d left it,” Joona replies.
“I’ve stopped believing in coincidences when it comes to this investigation,” Saga says.
“Me, too,” Joona says with a grin.
They look at the correspondence again and Joona points at Palmcrona’s two e-mails.
“He must have contacted someone between his first and second e-mail,” he says.
“The first is a warning,” Saga says. “The second one says it’s already too late and they’re going to die.”
“I believe that Palmcrona called someone for advice when he received the blackmail letter. He was scared to death, but he was hoping to get help,” Joona says. “Only when he realises that there’s no help to be had does he write the second e-mail where he tells Björn that they will both die.”
“We’ll have to put someone on his telephone lists,” Saga says.
“Erixson’s already on it.”
“What else?”
“Who’s the person mentioned in Björn’s first e-mail?” Joona says.
“Raphael Guidi?”
“Do you know about him?”
“He was named after the archangel Raphael,” Saga says. “He’s an Italian businessman who deals in weapons contracts for the Middle East and Africa.”
“Weapons contracts,” Joona repeats.
“Raphael has been in the business for thirty years and he’s built a private empire. There have been rumours, of course, but never anything concrete. Interpol’s looked but never found anything on him.”
“Would it be unusual to find Palmcrona in Raphael’s company?”
“Not at all,” she replies. “It’s part of his job. But toasting something in champagne? I don’t know.”
“But you wouldn’t kill someone, murder someone, because of that,” Joona says.
“No.”
“That photograph must reveal something else, something much more dangerous.”
“If Björn posted it, it must have arrived here, in the apartment,” Saga says.
“I looked through the post in his in-tray but—” Joona cuts himself off mid-sentence. Saga gives him a look.
“So, what is it? What are you thinking?”
“There are only personal letters in the tray. No ads. No bills,” he says. “The post had already been sorted when it arrived here.”
45
riding down the motorway
The housekeeper, Edith Schwartz, has no telephone. She lives forty-six kilometres north of Stockholm just outside of Knivsta. Joona is in the passenger seat next to Saga, who’s driving at a reasonable clip down Sveavägen. They leave Stockholm’s central area at Norrtull and get on the motorway near Karolinska Hospital.
“Säpo has finished going through the crime scene at Penelope Fernandez’s apartment,” Saga is telling him. “I’ve gone through all the material, and based on that, it’s perfectly clear she has no connection to left-wing groups. On the contrary, she’s distanced herself from them and is an avowed pacifist. She actively argues against their methods. I’ve also gone through what little information we have on Björn Almskog. He works at Debaser, which is a club located at Medborgarplatsen. He’s not politically active but was arrested once at a street party organised by Reclaim the City.”
They quickly pass between the flickering black fence posts along North Cemetery and Haga Park’s wall of greenery.
“I’ve also looked through our archives,” Saga continues. “Everything we have on both the left-wing and right-wing extremists in Stockholm. It took me most of the night. Of course, most of this is classified as top secret, but there’s one thing you need to know: Säpo made a mistake here. Neither Penelope nor Björn have ever been involved in sabotage or anything remotely resembling sabotage. They’re almost laughably innocent.”
“So you’re dropping that angle?”
“Like you, I’m convinced that we’re investigating something in another league entirely, far above either left- or right-wing local extremists … a league that’s perhaps even beyond Säpo and the National Criminal Investigation Department for that matter. I’m talking about Palmcrona’s death. Connect that with the fire in Björn’s apartment and Viola’s murder … this is something else again entirely.”
Saga falls silent. Joona thinks back to the housekeeper’s strange manner as she looked at him and asked if he’d cut Palmcrona down yet.
He’d said to her, “What do you mean by that?”
She’d said, “Excuse me, I’m just a housekeeper and I thought …”
He’d asked her if she’d seen anything unusual.
“A noose from the ceiling in the small salon,” she’d answered.
“So you saw the noose?”
“Yes, indeed.”
Of course she did, Joona thinks as he watches the motorway unroll before them. “Yes, indeed,” she’d said. The housekeeper’s forceful expression—in words and manner—reverberates in his head. So does the look she gave him when he’d told her she would have to go down to the police station to give a statement. He’d thought that would alarm her, but it hadn’t at all; she’d just nodded.
They’re now passing Rotebro. Joona was involved in an old case there in which they’d dug up ten-year-old remains in a garden while looking for Erik Maria Bark’s son, Benjamin. It had been winter then. Now wildflowers and greenery soften the rust-brown railroad tracks and brighten the way around the car park and on towards the townhouses and larger homes.
Joona decides to call Nathan Pollock at the National Criminal Investigation Department. After a few rings, he hears Nathan’s nasal voice.
“Nathan here.”
“You and Tommy found circles of footprints beneath Palmcrona’s body.”
“That investigation was shut down,” Nathan answers as Joona hears him typing on a computer.
“Right, but now—”
“I already know,” Nathan said. “I’ve just talked to Carlos and he told me about the new developments.”
“So can you take another look?”
“I’m already doing that,” Nathan says.
“Sounds good. When will you have some results?”
“Now,” Nathan replies. “They’re from Palmcrona and his ho
usekeeper, Edith Schwartz.”
“Nobody else?”
“No one.”
Saga is keeping a steady speed of 140 kilometres an hour. They’re heading north on European Route 4.
Earlier that morning, Joona and Saga had gone to the police station to listen to the recorded interrogation of Edith Schwartz while simultaneously following John Bengtsson’s handwritten notes.
Joona reviews the questions and answers in his memory. After the standard formula statements informing Edith that there was no suspicion of a crime, they requested whether she could shed some light on the reasons behind Carl Palmcrona’s death. Silence. Then Joona and Saga could hear the sounds from the ventilation system, the creaking of a chair, and the scratching of a pen on a sheet of paper. John Bengtsson had decided that due to Edith Schwartz’s apparent disinterest, he would let her speak first.
At least two minutes passed before she spoke. Two minutes is a long time to sit before a police officer’s desk while a tape is running.
Finally, she asked, “Did Director Palmcrona take off his coat?”
“Why do you ask that?” John Bengtsson replies in a friendly manner.
She said nothing. Another half minute went by. Finally, John ended the silence by asking, “Was he wearing his coat the last time you saw him?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Earlier, you told Detective Linna that you’d seen a noose hanging from the ceiling.”
“That’s correct.”
“What did you think he was going to use the noose for?”
She did not answer.
“How long was the noose hanging there?”
“Since Wednesday,” she said calmly.
“So you saw the noose hanging from the ceiling on the evening of the second of June, went home, returned the next morning, the third of June, saw the noose still hanging there, met Palmcrona, left the apartment, and then returned on the fifth of June at two p.m. when you met Detective Linna.”
The notes state she shrugged her shoulders at this point.
“Could you tell us something about those four days?” he asked.