Spice Trade

by Erik Mauritzson

41

  SUSPICION

  Thursday, February 2, 1 p.m. The lame man was relaxing on the flight back to Sweden by working out chess problems on his tablet computer. After an hour of this he became bored and decided to check the Sydsvenska Nyheter website. As the pages came up, he had them translated into English, and saw breaking news about the murder of Fredrik Haake.

  Thore Ostlund was in his office, meeting with Ivar, when Marta came in without knocking. She was visibly flustered and spoke breathlessly.

  “There’s a news story on TV about Fredrik Haake. He’s been murdered.”

  Ostlund exchanged surprised looks with Ivar.

  “Calm down, Marta,” Ostlund said.

  “And close the door on your way out,” added Ivar. She left, slamming the door behind her.

  Ostlund turned on the TV and switched to SVT Channel 24 news.

  They watched in silence as the first details of the murder were reported.

  “What the hell is going on?” Ostlund asked, staring at Ivar, as he turned off the TV.

  “I’m not sure, but it’s not all bad, despite losing the money we were going to get out of him. When his picture went public I don’t mind telling you I was starting to sweat. The police were getting much too close and Haake would have folded quickly.”

  “So you think Gotz just took it on himself? I told you he likes killing too much. He’s become a goddamn loose cannon.”

  “Maybe. But he’s indispensable right now. I don’t have a replacement who can do what he does for us.”

  “But we can’t let him think we’re ignoring this, or he’ll get completely out of control.”

  “Okay. Call him in, right now. And tell Marta not to say anything.”

  When Gotz came into the office the other two were standing.

  “Sit down, Gotz,” said Ivar in a harsh tone.

  Gotz looked puzzled, but sat down.

  “Why did you do it?” asked Ostlund.

  “Do what?”

  “Kill Haake, strangle him. There’s no use denying it,” said Ivar.

  Gotz looked astonished. “When did this happen?” he said, glancing up from one man to the other standing over him.

  “He was found this morning in his bank garage; but you know that,” replied Ostlund.

  “Like hell I do,” Gotz replied, his voice rising. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.” He was visibly indignant and got to his feet.

  “This is bullshit.” He turned to Ivar. “You know I wouldn’t do something like that without talking it over and getting your okay. Besides, he was a good customer. Why would I do it?”

  “If you say so, then we need to rethink what’s happening,” Ivar replied.

  “If Gotz didn’t do it, who did?” asked Ostlund, turning to Ivar.

  “And why?” said Ivar. “That’s the basic question.”

  After they’d both apologized to Gotz, he stalked out, still pissed.

  “Do you believe him?” Ostlund asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ivar replied. “He may have thought Haake had become too much of a risk to all of us and decided to act on his own. Now he doesn’t want to admit he did it without consulting us.”

  “So what should we do?”

  “Just accept what he told us. What else can we do? We need him.”

  “What about Karim? Do you think the Moroccans are planning something?”

  “They haven’t said anything to me. I checked at his hotel yesterday and he’s gone; I assume, back to Marrakech.”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling that things are changing, and not in a good way.”

  “Look, Haake’s death prevents the police from getting closer to us. Nothing else has happened. So, for God’s sake, stop worrying.”

  But Thore Ostlund had become increasingly worried and since Dahlin’s death had been thinking about how he could get out before everything fell apart.

  42

  A CONNECTION

  Saturday, February 4, 7 a.m. Ekman came downstairs dressed in his usual black, three-piece suit, just as Ingbritt was placing bowls of muesli with filmjölk, soured milk, on the table.

  He looked surprised at this frugal breakfast. “Is this all we’re having?” he asked in a plaintive tone.

  Ingbritt looked up. “It should be, Walther. We’re both putting on too much weight. But it’s not,” she said, and going to a cupboard, took out rågkusar flat rålls, Herrgardsost cheese, tomato slices, and a tube of Kalles cod caviar spread, and placed them on the table.

  “Is that better?” she asked, smiling.

  “Much,” he replied, as he sat down and started in on the cereal.

  “When will you be back?” Ingbritt asked later over coffee and the kanelbulle cinnamon rolls she’d also brought out against her better judgment.

  “It’s probably going to be a long day. But I’ll be home for dinner around seven at the latest and I’ll bring Garth with me.”

  “I’ll fix something nice for us, so don’t have a big lunch.”

  “Crackers and water only,” he said with a laugh. “Will that do?”

  “Perfectly,” she replied.

  As Ekman backed down the drive it was zero degrees Celsius and snow had begun falling rapidly from a leaden sky. There was thin, weekend morning traffic on the drive down Brunnvägen to headquarters.

  When he got to his office, he found Garth Rystrom already there looking out the window at snow beginning to blanket an almost empty Stortorget Square.

  He turned when he heard Ekman come in and hang up his hat and coat.

  “Garth, it’s good to see you,” Ekman said. “Did you just get in?”

  “No, I decided to come down last night, and it’s probably a good thing I did.”

  “Where are you staying?” Ekman asked.

  “At the Thon,” he said, naming a hotel a few blocks from headquarters.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay at our place? We’d be delighted to have you.”

  “Thanks, Walther, but I thought I’d just remain at the hotel.”

  Rystrom was a good-looking, blond-haired man with light blue eyes and pale skin whose unlined face made him appear much younger than his midfifties. Ekman couldn’t help wondering if his long-married friend might be seeing another woman while he was in Weltenborg, and then dismissed the thought as unworthy.

  “Well, if you change your mind, you know you’re always welcome. But you have to have dinner with us this evening or Ingbritt is going to be very disappointed.”

  Rystrom hesitated before he said, “I’ll be delighted to see her again.” But Ekman thought he’d quickly changed other plans for that evening.

  The team was already seated when Ekman and Rystrom came into the conference room.

  Ekman looked around the table. “You all know Garth Rystrom. He’s kindly agreed to help us, as he did last year.” Rystrom had been crucial in finally resolving a horrific case.

  “It’s good to see you all again,” Rystrom said. “I hope I can be of some help.”

  Ekman sat down at the head of the table and Rystrom took a seat at the other end, next to Rapp.

  “Okay,” Ekman said. “Let’s get started. Alrik?”

  “We’ve gotten the autopsy report and Haake was strangled between seven and eight Wednesday evening. From the width of the wound, the wire used was slightly thicker than the one that killed Jakobsson, and was applied with even more force. A little more and it would have cut through his spine. Also, DNA confirmed what we thought: Haake was definitely the other man who’d raped Dahlin. He was the really brutal one who’d raped her anally.” Rapp looked grim as he said this.

  “Now we’re on firmer ground than before,” Ekman said. He turned to Holm. “Enar, what have you got?”

  “Chief, I didn’t get anywhere with the bank about their merger plans. They said it was too preliminary and sensitive to discuss. If we want the information, we’ll have to get a warrant.”

  “All right, I’ll be meeting with Kallenberg this morning
and ask for it. Prepare an affidavit, please.”

  “Who checked the list of Fru Haake’s lovers?” Ekman asked.

  “We did, Chief,” responded Rosengren, looking over at the taciturn Alenius. “There were five of them over the last four years. None of them look good for the killing; they all have solid alibis for when Haake was killed.”

  “Could you double-check those alibis?” put in Rystrom. “I always get suspicious when people are too quick to come up with them and they’re too strong. Most folks can’t remember what they were doing yesterday,”

  Ekman nodded and said to Rosengren, “Garth’s right. Take another look to be certain.” Rosengren frowned, but said, “Whatever you want, Chief,” pointedly ignoring Rystrom.

  “Also,” Ekman added, “while you’re at it, double-check the dates she gave when she was involved with each of the men. If there are any unusually long time gaps between them, it could mean she left someone off the list.”

  “Will do, Chief,” said Rosengren.

  “What about the house staff?” Ekman asked, looking around.

  “I did the research,” said Vinter. “They have completely clean records, except for Marten Hult, the houseman. Two years ago, he finished serving four years for drug dealing and grievous bodily harm. There’s been nothing since then.”

  “How long has he been working there?” asked Rystrom.

  “He started shortly after he got out of prison.”

  “Gerdi, ask Fru Haake if they knew about his conviction when they hired him,” said Ekman. “And try to get her to tell you more about him.”

  Vinter nodded.

  “Maybe it was this ex-con who put Haake in touch with the trafficking ring,” said an excited Rapp.

  “It’s an interesting possibility. After Gerdi talks with Fru Haake, why don’t you bring him in for a quiet chat, Alrik?”

  43

  KALLENBERG INTERVENES

  Saturday, February 4, 10 a.m. Arvid Kallenberg was thinking about Haake’s murder as he gazed at trees in the small park beside the courthouse. Thickly falling snow was beginning to wrap white shrouds around their bare limbs when Ekman knocked and came in.

  “Good morning, Arvid,” Ekman said.

  “Good morning to you, Walther,” Kallenberg replied. “Although it’s not so good after all.” He gestured to the windows. He was casually dressed in a heavy, cable-knit white sweater and black slacks.

  “I assume you want to talk about Fredrik Haake’s murder,” Kallenberg said.

  “Yes, with all the attention it’s getting and the media inquiries you’re bound to have, I wanted to make sure you had the latest information on the investigation.” Mostly, however, Ekman wanted Kallenberg to be comfortable with what he was doing so he wouldn’t consider taking over the investigation himself.

  “I appreciate that, Walther. I’ve gotten several questions from them already, but referred them to your public information office. They won’t be satisfied with that, of course, and so pretty soon I expect they’ll be swarming over both of us,” Kallenberg said with a laugh.

  Ekman reviewed where the investigation stood, what they’d discussed at that morning’s meeting, and the new information about Marten Hult. Explaining that the bank was stonewalling, he handed Kallenberg an affidavit for a warrant for the bank’s documents relating to the proposed merger.

  “And you should know that Norlander had me bring in Garth Rystrom from the CID. He joined us this morning.”

  Kallenberg was silent for a moment as he considered this.

  “Walther, with all the media pressure, and CID now in the picture, I think I’ve got to be more directly involved.” He saw the momentary look of dismay that flitted across Ekman’s face. “It would look strange if I weren’t.

  “I really do have absolute confidence in you, but considering everything, I need to be at your team meetings from now on. Don’t worry, I want you to continue to lead the investigation. I’ll just try to be a helpful observer.”

  But Ekman knew that at any moment the prosecutor could simply take over. His attempt to ward off what was probably inevitable hadn’t worked.

  44

  FRU HAAKE CONFIDES

  Saturday, February 4, 2 p.m. Marten Hult opened the door when Gerdi Vinter rang.

  Right after the team meeting, she’d called to arrange a visit with Fru Haake.

  “What is this about now?” Kajsa Haake had asked, sounding exasperated.

  “I’d rather discuss it with you personally,” Vinter replied.

  “All right, if you must. I’ll see you at two.”

  Vinter looked at Hult carefully, taking in his muscular figure and stolid face.

  “I’m Inspector Vinter, Fru Haake is expecting me.”

  Hult just nodded, and opening the door wide, let her into the foyer. He took her coat from her and hung it in a closet.

  “Come this way, please,” he said, preceding her down the corridor to the room in which Ekman had had his interview.

  He knocked, opened the door, and said, “Inspector Vinter,” then turned and went back down the hall.

  Vinter was surprised by the size of the room and looked around before focusing on the slender woman, dressed in a grey pants suit. She’d put down the magazine she’d been reading and gotten up from the couch.

  She came forward and offered her hand, “I’m Kajsa Haake,” she said in a flat tone.

  Haake suggested they sit on the couch.

  “Would you care for some coffee, Inspector?”

  “No thank you, I’m fine,” Vinter replied. She didn’t want to drag out this meeting, just get the information she needed and leave.

  “What can I help you with?”

  “As part of our investigation, we’ve been reviewing the backgrounds of your house staff.”

  Haake looked startled.

  “It’s part of normal routine in a murder investigation,” Vinter said. “One of your staff has a criminal record. Were you aware of it?”

  “You mean Marten. And yes, he told my husband about it when he was first interviewed. Fredrik believed that everyone deserves another chance. So do I.”

  “Have you had any reason for second thoughts about him?”

  “None at all. He’s worked here for two years and has been very satisfactory.”

  “It’s vital in an investigation of this kind that you be completely frank, Fru Haake, and we appreciate the information you gave Herr Ekman. It’s been extremely helpful. But now I must ask you to be equally open with me. What is your personal relationship with Marten Hult?”

  Kajsa Haake was silent for a long moment. She looks distressed, thought Vinter: she doesn’t want to tell me. Vinter had already guessed what the other woman was going to say.

  “We’ve been intimate,” she replied with obvious reluctance.

  “And when did this begin?”

  “Shortly after he was hired.”

  “Was your husband aware of it?”

  “As I told Herr Ekman, my husband and I led separate private lives. I think he knew, but ignored it.”

  “Is this ongoing?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Why do you need these details?” She sounded increasingly aggravated.

  She’s embarrassed, thought Vinter. A woman who has an affair with a servant, and other lovers at the same time, is not how she wants to think of herself.

  “As I said, this background information is important in any investigation, especially a homicide,” Vinter replied calmly.

  “Would Herr Hult like to marry you, now that you’re a widow?”

  Kajsa Haake looked incredulous and then laughed harshly. “I have no idea what Marten would like, but it’s out of the question.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “If he has half a brain he does. We don’t have that kind of relationship, it’s just physical. Does that tell you what you wanted to know?”

  Vinter stood. “Yes, it does, Fru Haake. And I appreciate your openness. It’s very helpful.”
<
br />   Fru Haake had also gotten up. “I’ll show you out.”

  Marten Hult was waiting in the entrance hall and Vinter again looked at him carefully.

  He returned her glance and then looked away.

  He knows we’ve been talking about him, she thought, as he handed her coat to her and then opened the door.

  She said good-bye to Kajsa Haake. At the bottom of the front steps she turned, looking back over her shoulder at the couple standing side by side in the doorway.

  Despite the woman’s disparaging words about Hult, thought Vinter, they could have planned her husband’s death together. There are other motives besides money.

  45

  DINNER WITH RYSTROM

  Saturday, February 4, 6:50 p.m. The plow had piled snow in tall drifts on each side of the road, but strong gusts of wind had blown some of it back. The surface was slick in places with patches of black ice that glittered dangerously in his headlights. Ekman drove slowly, glancing occasionally in the rearview mirror to make sure Garth Rystrom’s following car was all right. He’d suggested that they travel together and that Rystrom at least spend that night with them, but he’d declined.

  As Ekman saw the lighted windows of his house and pulled into the drive, he felt the same warm sense he always had coming home. It was his refuge from the often-horrific world he faced every day. He opened the garage with a remote and drove forward into the brightly lit space, leaving room in the driveway for Rystrom’s car.

  They both entered the house from the connecting side door. Ingbritt had heard the garage door open and was standing in the hall waiting for them, a broad, welcoming smile on her face. She gave Rystrom a tight hug.

  “Garth, it’s so good to see you,” she said. “It’s been too long.”

  She took his coat and hat and hung them in the hall closet.

  “Both of you go into the dining room and relax,” she said, “I know you must be hungry. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”

  Ekman was surprised; they usually ate in the kitchen. Going down the hall toward the front of the house, he went into the old-fashioned, wainscoted dining room with Rystrom and saw that Ingbritt had set three places with her grandmother’s china and silver. A crystal vase of blue and yellow irises stood in the center of the white damask-covered table.