The Bomber

by Liza Marklund

  The conversation with that woman from the paper on Monday had opened the floodgates. For the first time in her life Helena Starke experienced vast and genuine loss. The hours that followed had made her see that she had actually been in love, for the first time in her life. The realization that she was actually capable of love had gradually dawned on her during the long hours of last night, and had made her feel even more bereft.

  Her confusion and loss at Christina’s death had passed into a vast pit of self-pity, which she knew she would have to learn to live with. She was the classic mourning widow, with the big difference that she would never have the support and understanding of anyone around her. That was the preserve of established norms for relationships, and institutionalized heterosexual love.

  Helena got to her feet with an effort; she really did feel incredibly stiff. She had sat for hours on the kitchen chair, chain-smoking one cigarette after the other, lighting one from the butt of the last. Sometime during the small hours she had given up trying to stay on the chair and had moved down onto the floor. Eventually she must have fallen asleep.

  She found an old glass on the draining-board, rinsed it and drank some water, feeling her stomach knot inside her. She remembered what Christina used to say – she could practically hear her voice in her head: You’ve got to eat, Helena; you have to take care of yourself.

  She knew she was important to Christina, maybe the most important person in her boss’s life. But her awareness of the darker sides of Christina’s life meant that she was under no illusions about what that actually meant. People were simply irrelevant to Christina.

  She opened the fridge and, amazingly, found a small pot of yogurt that was only two days past its use-by date. She got a spoon and sat down at the table and started to eat. Vanilla: her favourite. She looked out at the snow. It really was desolate weather.

  The traffic was rumbling down below on Ringvägen, she didn’t know how she put up with it. All of a sudden she realized that she no longer had to. She was worth more than this. She had plenty of money, and could move wherever she wanted to, anywhere in the world. She put the teaspoon on the table and ate the last of the yogurt with her fingers.

  It was time to leave.

  46

  The Sorbet restaurant lay on the eighth floor of the Luma Building in South Hammarby Harbour, serving both Swedish and Indian food. The owners weren’t too fussy about opening times. They had let Evert Danielsson in for a cup of coffee even though there were still fifty minutes until they started serving food.

  Annika found him behind a partition to the right of the door. His face was completely grey.

  ‘What on earth’s happened?’ Annika asked, sitting down on the chair facing him. She pulled off her scarf, gloves and coat and threw them onto the chair beside her, along with her bag.

  Evert Danielsson sighed, and looked down at his hands. True to form, they were clinging on to the edge of the table.

  ‘They lied to me,’ he said in a muffled voice.

  ‘Who did?’

  He looked up.

  ‘The Board.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Annika said.

  The man sniffed.

  ‘And the Committee, and Hans Bjällra; they all lied. They told me I’d be given a range of other duties, that I would have the job of sorting out a load of practical details now that Christina is dead. But they tricked me!’

  Annika looked around in frustration. She really didn’t have time to hold his hand through all this.

  ‘Just tell me what happened,’ she said abruptly, and it had the desired effect. The man pulled himself together.

  ‘Hans Bjällra, the Chairman of the Board, promised that we would work out my new responsibilities together, but that hasn’t happened at all. This morning when I got to work there was a letter waiting for me. A courier had dropped it off first thing …’ He fell silent and looked down at his white knuckles.

  ‘And?’ Annika said.

  ‘It told me to clear my office by lunch. SOCOG had no plans to use my services in the future. I therefore did not need to remain at the disposal of the organization, but was free to seek alternative employment. My parachute payment will be paid on the twenty-seventh of December.’

  ‘How big is the parachute?’

  ‘Five times my annual salary.’

  ‘Poor you,’ Annika said sarcastically.

  ‘Yes, it’s not bad,’ Evert Danielsson said. ‘And as I was reading the letter one of the men from HR came in, he didn’t even knock, just walked right in. He said he’d come to get my keys.’

  ‘But you had until lunchtime, you said?’

  ‘My car keys, they took my company car away.’

  The man leaned over the table and wept. Annika looked at his greying hair in silence. It looked rather stiff, like he had blow-dried and sprayed it. She noted that he was starting to go thin on top.

  ‘Surely you can use a bit of your parachute to buy a new car?’ Annika suggested. But she realized at once that it wasn’t worth trying. You can’t tell someone whose pet has just died that they can get another one.

  The man blew his nose and cleared his throat.

  ‘I’ve got no reason to show them any loyalty now,’ Evert Danielsson said. ‘Christina’s dead, so I can’t harm her any more.’

  Annika pulled her notepad and pen out of her bag.

  ‘So what do you want to tell me?’ she said.

  Evert Danielsson looked at her tiredly.

  ‘I know almost all of it,’ he said. ‘Christina was never the obvious candidate to be head of SOCOG, or even of the campaign to bring the Games to Stockholm. There were plenty of other people, most of them men, who were regarded as more suitable.’

  ‘How come you knew Christina?’

  ‘She had a background in business and banking, you probably know that. I got to know her eleven years ago or so, when I was head of admin at a bank where she was deputy managing director. She wasn’t very well liked by most of the employees; she was seen as rigid and unfair. The former was true enough, but not the latter. Christina was incredibly consistent, she never criticized anyone who didn’t deserve it. But she did execute people in public, which meant that everyone was terrified of failure. Maybe that had a positive effect on the bank’s profits, but it had a devastating effect on morale. The union was talking about a vote of no confidence in her, and things like that never usually happen in the banking sector. But Christina put a stop to it. The people in the union who were actively planning the revolt resigned and left the bank the same day. I don’t know what she did to get rid of them, but the idea of a vote of confidence was never mentioned again.’

  One of the waiters brought a cup of coffee for Annika and refilled Danielsson’s cup. Annika thanked him, thinking that she’d seen his face before, from an advert for credit cards, perhaps? She had a good memory for faces, so she was probably right. The television production companies based in the building presumably used whatever extras they could get their hands on.

  ‘How come she kept her position, if she was so unpopular?’ Annika asked once the coffee man from the advert had disappeared.

  ‘Yes, I wondered that as well. Christina had been deputy MD at the bank for almost ten years when I arrived. During that time there had been a couple of new managing directors, but Christina was never considered. She was firmly glued to her post, and she never got any higher.’

  ‘Why not?’ Annika wondered.

  ‘I don’t know. The glass ceiling, maybe. Or else the board were worried about what she might do if she got ultimate power. They must have known what she was like,’ Evert Danielsson said, taking a lump of sugar. Annika waited as he stirred it into his coffee.

  ‘Eventually Christina realized she wasn’t going to get any further. When Stockholm City Council decided to submit a bid for the Olympic Games she made sure the bank got involved as one of the biggest sponsors. I think she already had her plan worked out.’

  ‘Meaning …?’

  ‘That s
he was planning to take over the Games. She was heavily involved in the preparatory work. After a bit of negotiation she got leave from the bank and took on the work involved in the application as interim head of the Olympic bid. Her appointment wasn’t particularly surprising, even though she was a relative unknown in a part-time post. The job was pretty badly paid, much worse than her job at the bank. That was why most other business leaders weren’t interested. Besides, the job wasn’t exactly guaranteed to lead to anything more prestigious – you probably remember the criticism and lack of enthusiasm at the start? The idea of hosting the Olympics was hardly popular with the public. And it was Christina who gradually changed that attitude.’

  ‘Everyone says she did a great job,’ Annika added.

  ‘Of course,’ Evert Danielsson said with a grimace. ‘She was very good at lobbying, and at concealing the cost of that within various other sections of the budget. Changing Swedish popular opinion about hosting the Games was the biggest PR campaign ever mounted in this country.’

  ‘I’ve never heard that before,’ Annika said sceptically.

  ‘Well, of course you haven’t. Christina never let it leak out.’

  Annika made some notes and thought for a moment.

  ‘So when did you get involved with the Olympics?’ she said.

  Evert Danielsson smiled.

  ‘You’re wondering how much dirt I’ve got on my hands? How much shit I dealt with personally? Quite a bit. I stayed with the bank when Christina went off to run the Olympics campaign, taking over some of her responsibilities – mostly administrative matters. The fact that I started working for the Olympics happened entirely by chance.’

  He leaned back in his chair, apparently in a much brighter mood now.

  ‘Once Christina had secured the Games, things changed completely. The post of managing director of SOCOG was prestigious, all of a sudden. Everyone agreed that it should go to a competent individual with a wealth of business experience.’

  ‘There were several people under consideration, weren’t there? All men?’ Annika said.

  ‘Yes, and in particular one man who was in charge of one of the big nationalized companies at the time.’

  Annika thought back, and conjured up an image of the man’s jolly, smiling face.

  ‘That’s right, he pulled out for personal reasons, didn’t he, and ended up being appointed a County Governor instead?’

  Evert Danielsson smiled.

  ‘Yes, that’s precisely what happened. But those personal reasons were actually a receipt from a brothel in Berlin, which landed on my desk just after the Games were awarded to Stockholm.’

  Annika looked up in surprise. The former chairman was enjoying himself now.

  ‘I don’t know how she did it, but somehow Christina found out that the man had taken several colleagues to a porn club during some big socialist conference in Germany. She dug out the credit-card bill, and of course it had been claimed on expenses, paid for by the taxpayer, and that was that.’

  ‘How? And how did you get hold of it?’

  Evert Danielsson pushed away his cup and leaned forward over the table.

  ‘When the Games had been won, the plan was for Christina to return to the bank. The Swedish Olympic Committee were quick off the mark trying to get her contracted position to revert to us again, and because I had already taken on some of her formal duties, it was natural that I ended up dealing with any expenses and receipts that trickled in.’

  ‘Did that really mean that you were authorized to open her mail?’ Annika asked quietly.

  The smile on the man’s face stiffened.

  ‘I’m not going to pretend that I’m pure as the driven snow,’ he said. ‘I passed on the original claim to Christina without comment, but I made sure I took a copy first. The following day the man in question announced that he no longer intended to accept the offer to become managing director of SOCOG. And he recommended Christina Furhage for the job. Which was how it turned out, of course.’

  ‘And when did you come into the picture?’

  Evert Danielsson leaned back with a sigh.

  ‘I was thoroughly sick of the bank by then. The fact that I had been given a lot of Christina’s duties showed what the directors thought of me. I had no future there. So I showed Christina my copy of the receipt and said I wanted a job in the Olympic headquarters, a good job. And just one month later I was appointed chair of the committee.’

  Annika looked down and thought for a moment. It made sense. If the director had indeed taken ‘several colleagues’ to a brothel after an international socialist conference, then his wasn’t the only head on the block. The other men must have been influential socialists, so their careers and reputations were also at stake. They could well be local or national politicians, senior civil servants or union bosses. Whoever they were, they had a lot to lose from being revealed as brothel customers. They would lose their public responsibilities or get the sack, and they were almost bound to be charged with deception or false accounting. Their families would suffer, their marriages would probably collapse. For the director himself, the choice must have been fairly straightforward: step aside from leading the Olympic project or ruin his own and his friends’ lives.

  ‘Have you still got your copy of the receipt?’ Annika asked.

  Evert Danielsson shrugged.

  ‘Sadly not. I had to give it to Christina in exchange for the job.’

  Annika looked at the man in front of her. Maybe he was telling the truth, the story made sense and it wasn’t exactly flattering to him. Then she suddenly remembered where she had seen the blackmailed director’s happy, smiling face recently: standing next to Christina Furhage in one of the crop of memorial articles.

  ‘Isn’t the director on the Board?’ she said.

  Evert Danielsson nodded.

  ‘Yes, but of course he’s a County Governor these days.’

  Annika felt suddenly uneasy. Evert Danielsson might simply be out for revenge. Maybe he was trying to trick her. As he had pointed out, it made no difference to Christina now, but he could still damage the members of the group that had fired him.

  She decided to carry on with the conversation and see where it led.

  ‘How did Christina handle the job?’ she asked.

  ‘Magnificently, of course. She knew all the tricks of the trade. She got on extremely well with several of the most important IOC delegates. I don’t know exactly how she did it, but she got some serious support from them. I’d guess at sex, money or drugs, or maybe all three. Christina left nothing to chance.’

  Annika was making notes, and trying to maintain a neutral expression.

  ‘You indicated before that she had a lot of enemies.’

  Evert Danielsson gave a short, dry laugh.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘I can think of a whole series of people, from our time in the bank onwards, who would be happy to see her brought down, or even dead. She could humiliate any man who tried to be macho in her presence, to the point where he would break down in public. Sometimes I think she actually enjoyed doing it.’

  ‘Didn’t she like men?’

  ‘She didn’t like people, but she preferred women. In bed, at least.’

  Annika blinked.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘She had a relationship with Helena Starke; I’m absolutely convinced of it.’

  ‘So you don’t know for sure?’

  The man looked at Annika.

  ‘You can tell when two people have a sexual relationship. They stand in each other’s personal space, a little too close; they accidentally touch each other while they’re working. Little things, but they all add up.’

  ‘But she didn’t like all women?’

  ‘No, not at all. She hated women who flirted. She crushed them under her heels, criticizing everything they did and bullying them until they resigned. Sometimes I think she enjoyed sacking people in public. One of the worst instances of that was when she attacked a young girl
called Beata Ekesjö in front of loads of people.’

  47

  Annika’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘You mean that Beata Ekesjö hated Christina Furhage?’

  ‘With a passion,’ Evert Danielsson said, and Annika felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Now she knew the man was lying. As recently as yesterday, Beata Ekesjö had said how much she admired Christina Furhage. Christina was her idol; she was devastated by her death. There was no doubt at all about that. Evert Danielsson was making a big mistake here, but of course he had no idea that Annika happened to know who Beata was.

  By now it was half past eleven and the restaurant had started to fill with lunchtime customers. Evert Danielsson kept looking round uncomfortably; presumably a lot of his former colleagues from Olympic headquarters came here, and he evidently didn’t want to be seen with a journalist.

  Annika decided to ask a few final, decisive questions.

  ‘Who do you think killed Christina, and why?’

  Evert Danielsson ran his tongue over his lips and took hold of the edge of the table again.

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. But it was someone who really hated her. You don’t blow up half a stadium unless you’re seriously angry.’

  ‘Are you aware of any connection between Christina Furhage and Stefan Bjurling?’

  Evert Danielsson looked bewildered.

  ‘Who’s Stefan Bjurling?’

  ‘The second victim. He worked for one of your subcontractors, Bygg and Rör.’

  ‘Right, they’re one of the most reliable subcontractors. They’ve been involved in pretty much every construction project SOCOG has organized in the past seven years. So it was one of their men who died?’

  ‘Don’t you read the papers?’ Annika countered. ‘He was a foreman, thirty-nine years old, ash-blond hair, well-built …’

  ‘Oh, him,’ Evert Danielsson said. ‘Yes, I do know who he is. Steffe. He’s – or rather, he was – a really nasty piece of work.’

  ‘His workmates said he was a happy, friendly man.’