Later that same evening, Viola Fernandez had been killed on Bjorn Almskog’s boat.
Saga and Joona walk into the hallway and notice there’s been no mail delivery. They walk through the large rooms. Sunlight floods in through the windows and the smell of green soap lingers in the air. The red tin roof of the building across the street reflects the light, and from the bay window they can see the shimmering waters of Nybroviken Bay.
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 realizes 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 mail, and change the linens.
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 Jonson 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 Sapo’s security department,” Joona continues.
“We work, we no talk, right?” asks Johan Jonson.
“Cut that out,” says Saga.
“We have to look at Palmcrona’s computer,” Joona says. “How long will it take?”
They start walking toward 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 Sapo,” 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-box 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 Jonson 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 skunk@hotmail. com.
“Open them,” he says.
Johan clicks on the first one and instantly Bjorn Almskog’s e-mail covers the entire screen.
“Jesus Christ Superstar,” whispers Johan in English.
44
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 skunk@hotmail. com. 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 Bjorn 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 June 2, Palmcrona and Gerald James of the Technical-Scientific Advisory Committee had gone to the munitions factory of Silencia Defense in Trollhattan. That morning, he’d received an e-mail from Bjorn 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 Bjorn, Palmcrona sends a second e-mail to Bjorn, 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 Bjorn’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 Bjorn Almskog is dated Wednesday, June 2, 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
