murder took place in the very early morning hours of March thirtieth; the second sometime after midnight on April first, today. I think Commissioner Morner stated it quite clearly. If the pattern holds, though I grant you it’s based on premises that are still much too vague, then murder number three will take place tomorrow night.
“It’s unreasonable to think that before then we’ll be able to close in on a suspect and put him under surveillance. But it would be good to at least narrow the field of possible targets so that we can then call on the willing assistance of the Stockholm police force and watch maybe five or six of the most likely candidates. Keep in mind the home-alone and arriving-home-late element.
“I suggest the following work assignments: Viggo will handle Interpol and the M.O. angle; Nyberg will try to track down any common enemies, with particular attention to the distant past, the Stockholm School of Economics, and their paths to prominence. Holm will call people in their circles of friends and find out if there are any secret lovers or the like. Hjelm will focus on their leisure activities: sailing, golf, fraternal orders, and anything else that can be discovered. Soderstedt will tackle their business interests. And be sure to get all the help you need from the National Economic Crimes Bureau; that’s probably going to be the toughest area to deal with. And Chavez will check up on the various board memberships that both victims have held, both now and in the past.
“I’ll be in charge of the overall picture, the assignments, decision making, and so on. This damned whiteboard is going to fill up with flow charts. It’s almost four o’clock now. I suggest we put in a few hours so we can set up an effective work plan for tomorrow.”
Hultin paused to think. Then he nodded slightly, as if to indicate that he’d said all he wanted to say. Just as he was about to stand up, Arto Soderstedt cleared his throat, and Hultin sank back into his chair.
“What’s the work schedule going to be?” asked Soderstedt.
“Well, as I said, we’re all going to be putting in a lot of hours until this thing is solved. You can forget about any union contracts and legal work hours for the time being. In principle, the entire group is on call twenty-four-seven. You can choose to see it from the bright side-special loopholes have been created so that we can make use of the maximum allowable overtime. If this thing goes on for long, you may be earning a lot of extra pay. Or you can choose to see it from a negative point of view. Marriages and the like are going to suffer, especially if this goes on through the summer.”
Again Hultin made a motion to get up; again he sank back into his chair.
“Just one more question,” Soderstedt said. “What about Sapo?”
Hultin nodded. It was impossible to interpret his brief pause. “Right. Well, the Security Police will certainly be involved. As usual, they’ll carry out their parallel investigation in secret, but the plan is for us to ‘exchange information.’ ” Hultin’s quote marks fluttered around the room like little death’s-head hawk-moths. “One day in the very near future, their group is going to show up here to introduce themselves and discuss the security aspects of the case. I’ve had certain indications, you might say, that the security division of the military will also step in at the slightest hint of any international military involvement. So we have several reasons to hope that this can stay on a national level.”
That was as far as Hultin’s subjective opinion went.
He got up and went out to the corridor. They followed, single file, well aware of what lay ahead of them, and disappeared, two by two, into their respective offices.
Jorge Chavez and Paul Hjelm went into room 304. It was so small that it really had only enough space for the two desks, which had been shoved together. The computer stood on the crack between the two desks; the monitor could be turned to face in either direction. Squeezed into the corner of the room was a little table with a coffeemaker.
At least the minuscule room had a window facing the courtyard. Hjelm stepped over to the window and looked out. He could see sections of police headquarters surrounding a small, concrete yard. Under the window stood a little table with an old dot-matrix printer; the cables stretched like tripwires across the floor from the computer.
“If we quickly swallow our disappointment at not getting our own offices, this will probably do just fine,” said Chavez. “Which desk do you want?”
“It doesn’t look like it makes any difference,” said Hjelm.
Chavez sat down on the chair closest to the door, and Hjelm took the other. Both tested the chairs by rocking back and forth as they absentmindedly leafed through the file folders on the desks in front of them.
“Better than Sundsvall,” said Chavez.
“What’s better?”
“The chairs. At least they’re better.”
Hjelm nodded, noticing the unanswered questions hovering in the air between them. He imagined that the other man noticed it too.
Chavez broke the rather oppressive silence by jumping up and asking Hjelm, “Coffee?”
“That might be a good idea.”
Chavez lifted the lid of the coffee container sitting on the little table in the corner. Then he bent down and sniffed.
“Ah,” he said as he let the coffee grounds slide through his fingers. “Ah. What is it they call this? The King’s Coffee? Would you mind if I brought along a South American blend tomorrow instead?”
“Okay, but leave that one here.”
“Absolutely,” said Chavez as he returned to his desk with the empty coffee pot in his hand. He leaned toward Hjelm. “But I think I’ll be able to make you a convert to genuine Colombian coffee, hand ground.”
Hjelm looked at the short, eager man. “Can you brew that sort of thing in an ordinary Swedish coffeemaker?”
“Ah,” said Chavez. “It has many unused capabilities.”
He disappeared out into the hallway, then returned carrying the pot filled with water. He went over to the corner table and gently tipped the pot toward the coffeemaker.
“That part about being a hero…” said Hjelm as he heard the first drops hitting the tabletop. One by one they landed on the floor. The rest of the water ended up, as intended, in the coffeemaker, which Chavez switched on as he stuffed a filter in the basket and dumped in several spoonfuls of the King’s Coffee.
“It just slipped out,” Chavez said to Hjelm, with his back turned. “That happens. It’s an old defense mechanism.”
“Do you have reservations about working with me?”
“I don’t even know you,” said Chavez to the wall.
“Give me a break,” said Hjelm.
Chavez turned around, went back to his chair, and sat down, fixing his eyes on the desk. “It’s true that I know nothing about you. I have no idea what really happened during that… hostage drama. All I know is how people reacted.”
“In Sundsvall?”
“Let’s just say this: I’m glad I’m here and not there.”
“With me?”
“In a closed room.”
“The media story isn’t correct.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. And it does in terms of our working relationship.”
Both fell silent. Neither man looked at the other. It started to get dark in the room. Hjelm got up to switch on the ceiling light. An unpleasant fluorescent glow gradually filled the office. Hjelm was still standing, garishly illuminated. “Tomorrow I’ll ask Hultin to find you a different officemate,” he said, and went out into the hall.
The men’s bathroom was right next door, and he stood there for a good long time after taking a piss. He shut his eyes and leaned forward against the wall.
“Now I get it,” said Chavez when Hjelm returned. “You’re the one who wants to change officemates. Get away from the Sundsvall blackhead with the big mouth.”
“Better a Sundsvall blackhead with a big mouth than a world-famous blackhead exterminator,” said Hjelm as he
