Another Time, Another Life (42 page)

At first no one understood a thing. The assembled medical experts stood by scratching their heads, until a senior physician in the department with a good memory recalled a recent, very sad story at the Karolinska Institute about a young medical student who had stolen a bottle of thallium, which he had used to poison his father. From the notes in Wiijnbladh’s medical record it appeared that he worked as a crime technician with the Stockholm police, and the doctor quickly added one and one together and got to two. Because there was no way to talk with Wiijnbladh himself—in plain Swedish he was completely gone, and was wandering back and forth in the borderland between life and death—his doctor called the head of the Stockholm Police Department’s disciplinary unit, whom he knew due to a previous, similar story, and reported his observations directly to him.

The bottle of thallium was found locked up where it should have been at the tech squad, but the quantity it contained was less than what it should have been according to the confiscation report, and the remainder, more than ten grams, was found on the shelf in Wiijnbladh’s locker at work. Someone, most likely Wiijnbladh himself, had poured it into a can that originally held instant coffee.

Considering that a few hundredths of a gram was sufficient to kill, and that even a few microscopic grains on the skin were more than sufficient to make you feel like Wiijnbladh, the potential for harm was frightening and the agitation at the tech squad had been great. They were worried not so much about Wiijnbladh as about what might have happened to other, completely normal colleagues in Chief Inspector Blenke’s valiant battalion.

“But what would he do with ten grams of thallium?” Holt asked with surprise.

“According to a colleague at internal investigations, Wiijnbladh was going to use it to kill his wife,” Martinez explained.

“What?” said Holt. That little twit, she thought. Who knew he had that much backbone?

“Although that problem solved itself—they say she’d already left him before he was discharged from the hospital. I hardly think he’s in any condition to kill her with anything he can swipe from all the old shit he has access to down at the lost-and-found department,” said Martinez. “It’s mostly stolen bicycles and TVs,” she clarified.

“So what happened to the hand towel?” asked Holt.

According to Martinez the hand towel had been lost to forensic science in the general disorder that had broken out in the wake of Wiijnbladh’s sudden bout of ill health. In normal circumstances Wiijnbladh would have placed it in one of the tech squad’s freezers for storage to await any future needs—such as now, for example—or until the case was closed and it could be discarded. But things did not go as usual.

Instead it had remained lying on Wiijnbladh’s work bench, and because it was well packaged it had managed to rot considerably before the odor finally forced its way through the plastic, alarming Wiijnbladh’s colleagues—who by that time were rather sensitive where he was concerned—and one of them took immediate measures.

“Someone simply threw it in the garbage,” said Martinez, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s unclear who, but it was someone who worked there.”

“I see,” said Holt. “Have you spoken with Wiijnbladh?”

“Yes,” said Martinez, “and the reason I didn’t take you along was that you were sitting talking to our beloved boss.”

“So what did Wiijnbladh say?” Holt wondered. Typical, she also thought.

“Not much,” said Martinez, shaking her head. “The guy’s only a remnant. No hair, hardly any teeth left, his whole body shaking like he’s playing maracas. I could hardly hear what he was saying and he didn’t remember any hand towel or any murder of any Eriksson. On the other hand he remembered that he had personally solved hundreds of murders when he was working at the tech squad. He just didn’t remember Eriksson. Then he asked me to say hello to someone named Bäckström. So I promised to do that. Is he someone you know?”

“Depends on what you mean by know,” said Holt, shrugging her shoulders. “He was the one in charge of the Eriksson investigation.”

“Omigod,” said Martinez. “I wondered. So what’s he like?”

“Well,” said Holt, delaying her response. “Like Wiijnbladh—only the other way around—and just as bad.”

“I get it,” said Martinez.

According to Martinez it was still too early for them to throw in the proverbial towel. One of their own technicians had promised to do his best with the report and get back to them as soon as possible, and dear Mattei had had an idea when Martinez told the sorrowful story of the hand towel to her.

“What was that?” said Holt.

“She didn’t say,” said Martinez, “but it must have been something pretty special, because she left the building before lunch. What’s with you anyway? You look strange.”

“I had an idea myself,” said Holt. “It was just something that struck me.” Wonder if he’s alive, she thought.

“Spooky,” said Martinez. “Real, real spooky.”

Mattei returned from her mysterious expedition that same afternoon, with flushed cheeks and a story she simply had to tell.

“Where have you been?” asked Holt.

“I’ve been out surveilling. I didn’t get hold of you because you were sitting in Johansson’s office, but I got the go-ahead from Wiklander.”

“So where have you been?” Holt wondered impatiently. “With the Hell’s Angels in their cozy little clubhouse out in Solna?”

“No, yuck,” said Mattei. “I’ve been with SACO at their main office in Östermalm, and it was just in the nick of time actually.”

As she was reading the report on the hand towel Mattei had gotten an idea.

“The person who vomited in the towel had evidently consumed fish, vegetables, and coffee,” said Mattei.

“Yes, I saw that too,” said Holt.

“And considering that the traces were visible, I realized the meal must have been consumed relatively late in the day,” Mattei explained. “But it would be before the person vomited into the hand towel,” she clarified.

“Yes,” said Holt. Even I realized that, she thought.

“And then I happened to think about that conference,” said Mattei.

Considering that it was an all-day conference, it did not seem entirely unreasonable that at the end of the day those who had worked at the conference—organizers and presenters, for example—might have been offered a meal as thanks for their efforts, even if this was not listed on the printed program that Holt had collected for the investigation more than ten years earlier.

“They did have such a meal, of course, because they always did,” said Mattei. “It was in their own executive dining room, and there were only ten or so participants. Stein was there at the dinner as an invited presenter. And they still have the menu and a list of the participants, since you need those for accounting purposes and you have to save the records for at least ten years according to the regulations. By next week they would have started to clean out the accounts from fiscal year 1989, so I was in the nick of time,” Mattei concluded, catching her breath.

“And fish was served at the dinner they were treated to,” said Holt.

“Of course,” said Mattei. “There was fish as an appetizer—salted West Coast cod on a bed of rucola—and fish and vegetables as an entrée. It was flounder, by the way, with oven-baked root vegetables and lime dressing. Here’s the menu,” said Mattei, handing over a thin plastic folder.

“Fish as an appetizer and fish and vegetables as an entrée,” Holt repeated.

“Yes, it was almost only women at the dinner, so that was probably why,” said Mattei. “It actually sounds really good. And Stein was there, as I said, and she ate.”

“Yes, I heard you say that,” said Holt, “and it—”

“Although on the other hand she declined the snack later,” Mattei interrupted.

“How do you know that?” asked Holt with surprise.

“She’s crossed off the list,” said Mattei. “They had an early dinner at
six o’clock,” said Mattei, “and there were eleven different participants listed of which one is attorney Helena Stein. But then cheese and fruit and red wine were served as a kind of evening snack at ten o’clock, and seven of them signed up for that. The others had to go home, I guess to take care of the kids, and one of the seven who signed up was Helena Stein.”

“But then her name is crossed out?” Holt clarified. For her own sake, she wasn’t going to get anything turned around.

“Yes,” said Mattei, “and I think she must have declined at the last minute.”

“I do too,” said Holt slowly.

“She must have been in a hurry if she was going to kill Eriksson at eight o’clock,” Mattei observed in a most unsentimental manner.

Fifteen minutes later Martinez called Holt and reported that her contact at the tech squad had called and wanted to share his findings regarding the hand towel, provided they could come to see him at the tech squad of course.

Nice to get to move a little, thought Holt, who was not accustomed to running investigations from a desk. If anyone had asked her before this strange story got going in earnest, she would certainly have said that solving a case sitting behind a desk was an impossibility. You conquered out in the field—every police officer worth the name knew that. She had never been part of an investigation that had moved with such speed and vigor while she sat in front of her PC or at her desk. We have a breakthrough, and soon we’ll be basking in police department glory. Assuming that Johansson doesn’t decide to take the credit, of course.

“Sit down, girls, and make yourselves at home,” said the colleague at tech, who had both a beer belly and an old-fashioned, courteous manner.

“Thanks,” said Holt, although she actually wanted to say something else.

“Well … let’s see now,” said their technician, pushing up his glasses on his forehead and taking out his copy of the report from the forensic
lab, which was now covered with his own notes. “It’s rather amusing to be sitting here with three female colleagues in my office—”

“It’s nice that you think so,” said Holt neutrally, because she was still a chief inspector. She wanted to say something before Martinez could blurt out something less appropriate.

“Yes, considering the conclusions that I’ve drawn regarding the finds that our colleagues in Linköping SCL secured on the hand towel in question,” the colleague continued, looking shrewd.

“I don’t really understand,” said Holt.

“I’ll get to that,” said the colleague with a sober expression. “So we have vegetable and animal oils, esters, vegetable fat in solid form, traces of wax plus three different coloring agents, and in addition …”

“What he means is that the chemical stuff they found on the hand towel comes from an ordinary lipstick,” said Mattei innocently.

The meeting with the colleague from the tech squad had been brief, and in the corridor outside his office Martinez had embraced an embarrassed Mattei and kissed her right on the mouth. Then all three, giggling happily, returned to their project room.

“I had no idea you knew that kind of chemical hocus-pocus too,” said Holt, looking at Mattei. Johansson can eat his heart out, she thought. Little Mattei will soon be doing turns around him.

“I don’t,” Mattei objected. “But I did run it on the computer. There are standard programs for searching chemical finds. This one in particular is a crib sheet I swiped from the FBI.”

“This is completely insane,” said Martinez happily. “Did you see the bastard’s expression? It’s an ordinary lipstick,” Martinez imitated. “I thought our old colleague was going to freak out.”

“Oh well,” Mattei objected. “We shouldn’t be unfair. He actually has pulled out both the color of the lipstick and the most likely brand. Dark cherry red, cerise, high quality, expensive, probably French manufacture, and in any event not American, because their health laws prohibit the use of one of the coloring components. Probably Lancôme bought in France and not intended for export,” Mattei stated with the help of the technician’s handwritten notes.

And regardless of the price, it was hardly something that the blonde
Jolanta would use, thought Holt, who to be on the safe side also intended to ask the cleaning lady about it.

“I think it’s high time we have a chat with our esteemed boss,” said Holt. “What do you think about that?”

Holt had to have her conversation with Johansson without the company of her closest coworkers, because both Mattei and Martinez decided they had other, better things to do.

“Shoot,” said Johansson. He leaned back in his chair and nodded encouragingly at his female chief inspector and assistant chief detective, who recounted the status of the investigation in less than five minutes.

“So, that’s the situation,” Holt concluded. And what do we do now? she wondered.

“It’s starting to lean toward our needing to have a talk with Ms. Stein, I’m afraid,” said Johansson.

“Isn’t it a little too early?” Holt objected.

“Will we get much further then?” asked Johansson. “Wouldn’t it be perfect if we could get her to deny that she ever set foot in Eriksson’s apartment?” Regardless of the fact that this is not a murder investigation we’re involved in, he thought, and besides, his best friend Bo Jarnebring and a few hand-picked colleagues of his from homicide in Stockholm could take care of that work. Nothing could be better than to solve this in such a fashion, he thought.

“I understand how you’re thinking,” said Holt. “The risk is that then she’ll suddenly remember that sometime before—but she’s not sure which day it was—she happened to stop by Eriksson’s by pure coincidence. Perhaps because she saw her cousin Tischler and he was the one who suggested it. And I can imagine that he’d be willing to swear to that.”

“Yes,” said Johansson, “but she’s going to think of that explanation sooner or later no matter what, if this gets serious.” And at least then she will have talked with her attorney, he thought.

“You’re looking for an opportunity to be rid of the whole case and send it down to Stockholm,” said Holt. Say that you aren’t, she thought.

“Yes,” said Johansson seriously, “I actually am, because this is starting
to look suspiciously like something that shouldn’t be on our table anymore. But I’ve also realized that you really, really want to have a talk with Stein, so I’m willing to discuss the matter.”