There is no furniture in this room. Just the hanged man, who, in all probability, is none other than Carl Palmcrona, the general director of ISP.
The rope is fastened to the center of the lamp hook emerging from the rosette in the center of the ceiling.
Theres nothing for him to climb on, Bengtsson thinks.
The ceiling height must be at least three and a half meters.
Bengtsson calms himself, collects his thoughts, and registers everything he sees. The hanged mans face is as blanched as damp sugar and John Bengtsson can see only a few blood spots in the wide-open eyes. The man is wearing a thin overcoat, a light gray business suit, and black leather-soled oxfords. A black briefcase and a cell phone lie on the parquet floor a short distance from the pool of urine that has collected directly underneath the body.
The hanged man suddenly shakes.
Bengtsson takes a sharp breath.
A heavy thud from the ceiling above. The sounds of a hammer in the attic. Someone walks across the attic floor. Another thud and Palmcronas body shakes again. The sound of a power drill. Silence. Someone calling for more cable: Cable reel.
Bengtsson notices how his pulse begins to slow as he turns to walk away from the salon. He sees the outer door is open and he stops, sure hed closed it. He knows he could be wrong. He leaves the apartment, but before he reports to his department, he picks up his cell phone and calls Joona Linna at the National Criminal Investigation Department.
5
First week of June. For several weeks the people of Stockholm have been waking up much too early. The sun rises at three thirty a.m. and remains bright almost the entire night. The weather has been unusually warm. The exuberant bird cherries and lilacs bloomed at the same time. Dense sprays of buds spread their aroma from Kronoberg Park all the way to the entrance of the National Police Board headquarters.
The National Police Board, Swedens only centrally operating police organization, is responsible for combating serious crime at both the national and international level.
The head of the National Criminal Investigation Department, Carlos Eliasson, is standing by the low window on the fifth floor, scanning the view over Kronoberg Park while pressing the phone to his ear and dialing Joona Linnas number. Once again, he hears his call connect to voice mail. He sets the phone down and glances at the clock.
Next door, a tired voice tries to deal with a European arrest warrant and the Schengen Information System.
Petter Naslund enters Carloss office and, clearing his throat carefully, leans against a streamer that declares: WE MONITOR, MARK THE SPOT, AND DISTURB.
Pollock and his guys will be here soon, Petter says.
I can tell time, says Carlos.
The sandwiches are ready, Petter says.
Carlos suppresses a smile and asks, Have you heard theyre recruiting?
Petters face turns red as he looks at the floor, collects his thoughts, and looks up again. I would Can you think of anyone better who would work well in the National Homicide Squad?
There are five experts who make up the National Homicide Squad. The Commission, as theyre known, works systematically using a methodology known by its initials, PIGC, Police Investigation of Grave Criminality. The burden they carry is enormous. They are in such demand, they barely have time to get to the police station for a meeting.
The paradise fish in Carloss aquarium calmly make their turns. As he reaches for fish food, the phone rings.
Theyre on the way up, says Magnus in reception.
Carlos tries one last time to reach Joona Linna by phone, then gets up, checks himself quickly in the mirror, and goes to welcome his guests. Just as he reaches the elevator, the doors soundlessly slide open. Seeing the entire Commission together makes an image flash in his mind: a Rolling Stones concert he attended a few years back with some of his colleagues. The band on the stage looked like relaxed businessmen, and just like the National Homicide Squad, they were all dressed in dark suits and ties.
Nathan Pollock steps out first, his distinctive silver hair in a ponytail. Following him is Erik Eriksson. He likes eyeglasses decorated with diamonds, hence the nickname Elton. Behind him saunters Niklas Dent, next to P. G. Bondesson, and walking behind all of them is Tommy Kofoed. Kofoed is the forensic technician. Hes hunchbacked, and stares sullenly at the ground.
Carlos shows them to the meeting room, where Operating Commander Benny Rubin is already sitting at the round table, waiting for them, a cup of coffee before him. Tommy Kofoed takes an apple from the fruit basket and bites in loudly. Nathan Pollock looks at him with a smile and shakes his head slightly. Kofoed stops right in the middle of a chew.
Welcome, Carlos begins. Its good we can get together. There are several serious issues on the agenda.
Shouldnt we wait for Joona Linna? asks Tommy Kofoed.
Well drawls Carlos.
That man does just what he pleases, Pollock says quietly.
Hey, come on now, Tommy Kofoed says defensively. Give the man his due. The Tumba murders last year? He had them all figured out and I still dont know how he did it.