‘Sebastian is going to love that,’ Toulon said sarcastically.
‘While you’re at it, see if the Finns can secure a warrant to examine Berglund’s bank records. He wouldn’t be the first person to lie on a tax return, and I highly doubt that a genius who has multiple shell companies to protect his identity only earns a modest salary.’
‘On it.’
‘Good. Call me back if you get anywhere.’
‘Of course,’ Toulon replied.
‘And Henri …’
‘Oui?’
‘Good work.’
Dial wanted to go back to bed after his call with Toulon, but he knew it would be pointless. His mind was too busy mulling over the details of the case. As it was, it had taken him most of the night to get any sleep at all.
With nothing better to do, he showered, got dressed, and headed to the lobby. He had a rough idea of where he was in the city, which was to say that he knew he needed to go north to reach Eklund’s office at the police station. Normally he would have simply hailed a cab and given the driver the address. But knowing that he had a few hours to burn before his morning meeting with Eklund, he decided against the cab.
Today, he would walk.
Familiarizing himself with a place was part of Dial’s normal routine. He preferred to understand the geography and demographics before drawing any conclusions about the situation that had drawn him there. But on this trip he hadn’t yet had much of an opportunity to look around. Although he had visited Stockholm once before, that tour had introduced him to little more than the airport, the hangar at the airport that had become a crime scene, and his hotel near the airport. He had never truly seen the city.
The Swedish capital was comprised of fourteen islands situated in Riddarfjärden Bay, where the water of Lake Mälaren met the Baltic Sea. When the first of these islands was settled more than nine hundred years ago, the only way to visit the central city was by boat. Today, the sprawling metropolis was connected by a vast network of ferries, subways, buses and commuter rails that were the envy of most other European cities.
Despite these modern advancements, Stockholm remained one of the cleanest cities in the world. For nearly two centuries, the governing factions of the city had sought to keep the air and water as pristine as possible. The ecological impact of every construction project was considered before any permits were granted, and factories — especially those that burned fossil fuels — were strongly discouraged. Instead of manufacturing, Stockholm was focused on the service industries. It was the financial capital of Sweden, and most, if not all, of the country’s major banks were headquartered there, as well as many of the nation’s biggest insurance companies and its busiest stock exchange.
To alleviate the urban feel, nearly a third of the city’s land had been reserved for parks, recreational areas and nature reserves. The city’s government had certified more than a thousand of these ‘green spaces’, which had resulted in minimal pollution and a well-earned reputation as Europe’s first ‘green capital’.
Dial checked his map and walked east, toward the oldest part of the city. A few minutes later he turned north and crossed the main bridge in Skeppsbron into the neighborhood of Gamla stan, which was strangely spelled with a capital ‘G’ and a lowercase ‘s’.
Here he could see the roots of the city.
Cobbled streets and narrow alleyways crisscrossed the small island of Stadsholmen. They led Dial past Stockholm Cathedral — the city’s oldest church — and the royal palace. Though the king and queen did not call the palace home, it remained the Swedish monarch’s official residence and housed the offices of the royal family.
Dial noticed the prominent gothic brick styling of north German architecture at nearly every turn, a carryover from the fledgling days of the town. In the middle of the community he found a large square known as the Stortorget. In the early morning light the scene was calm and serene, with no trace of the massacre that had taken place on that very spot centuries ago, when Danish invaders executed nearly a hundred clergymen in the streets. The site of the Stockholm Bloodbath, as it came to be known, was now a tourist attraction surrounded by shops.
Dial meandered through these streets for more than an hour before continuing on his path toward the police headquarters. As he walked, he marveled at the clear blue waterways and the pleasant demeanor of those enjoying their daily commute. Everything here felt welcoming and secure. He couldn’t think of anywhere he had ever been that projected the same vibe.
It made his investigation that much more troubling.
As if the sanctity of the city was now his to defend.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he practically jogged the last few blocks to Eklund’s office. He didn’t need the map to identify his destination. He remembered the recessed entrance and glass-enclosed lobby from the day before. The facade was almost warm and inviting, very different from the majority of police buildings he had visited.
He arrived a full hour before his eight o’clock meeting, hoping to get a snack before the others arrived. He flashed his ID at the door and was shown to Eklund’s office.
He expected to find an empty room.
Instead, Eklund was already hard at work.
24
Eklund immediately stood from his desk. ‘Nick, I didn’t expect to see you so early.’
‘I was just thinking the same thing about you. Did you even sleep?’
‘A little, here and there.’
Dial could see from the wrinkled shirt Eklund wore and the rumpled cushions on his office couch that he hadn’t made it home the night before. ‘But you’re good to go?’
‘Fit as a fiddle, as you Americans say.’
‘Actually, we stopped saying that about fifty years ago.’
‘Really? Why’s that?’
‘We stopped playing fiddles.’
Eklund laughed as he smoothed his hands across the front of his shirt, trying to make himself look more presentable. ‘Now that you mention it, it is rather dated.’
Dial nodded and glanced around the office. He immediately focused on a large magnetic dry erase board that covered most of the back wall, opposite Eklund’s desk. The middle third of the board was plastered with photos from the crime scene and scribbled notes.
‘What’s all this?’ he asked.
‘That’s my version of a touch screen,’ Eklund joked. ‘The younger guys enter all their information into a computerized display that spits it out and lets you pull it around the screen however you want.’
‘I’m familiar with the technology. If you’d like one for your office, I can make a call and have one here by noon. Budget be damned.’
‘With all due respect, I’d like to throw that stuff off a goddamn bridge. All that tapping and dragging and squeezing and spreading your fingers — what a bunch of nonsense! Give me some pictures, a whiteboard and some markers. That’s all I need.’
‘No need to convince me,’ Dial said, laughing. ‘I still use a corkboard.’
The more he got to know Eklund, the more he liked him. When it came to evidence, Dial was old-school like Eklund. He preferred the simplicity of a bulletin board to the functionality of a high-tech gadget. To him there was no better way to organize a case. He could move things around whenever he wanted until everything fit into place — like a giant jigsaw puzzle that revealed the identity of the killer.
‘So, what do we have so far?’ Dial asked as he examined the evidence.
‘Not enough,’ Eklund replied, pointing to the various columns on his board. ‘This is the list of the registered owners of the cars in the warehouse parking lot. Unfortunately, half of the vehicles were rented, which means we have to track down the drivers’ names through the rental agencies — and some of them require court orders.’