Payne & Jones 08 - The Einstein Pursuit, page 12
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.’
Dial saw a second list of names on the opposite side of the board. ‘What about them?’
Eklund glanced at the list. ‘Believe it or not, we were actually able to get a few usable prints from the scientists who were trapped in the back room. The science is beyond me – something about rehydrating the fingertips to expose the ridge patterns – but I can get a tech up here to explain it if you’d like.’
‘No need. I’ll take your word for it.’ Dial shifted his focus to a photo of the two men who had been killed at the scene. ‘What about the gunmen? Were you able to get their names?’
‘Unfortunately, no. At least, not yet. We’re running their dentals and prints through every database we can access, but so far nothing has given us a match. It’s really not that uncommon, to be honest. If they were covert military or government, there’s a better-than-good chance that their records have been expunged.’
‘The perfect hit men,’ Dial offered.
‘You’re right. This doesn’t look like a hack job. But until we figure out what was going on and who was doing what, there’s no way of knowing which one of these people was the target. It could be any of them, or it could be all of them.’
‘Speaking of names, I’ve got one to add to your board.’ Dial grabbed a blue marker from the plastic tray and wrote DR TOMAS BERGLUND in capital letters.
Eklund wasn’t familiar with the name. ‘Who is he?’
‘The owner of the building.’
‘Really? How did you manage that?’
Dial smiled. ‘I’m good at what I do.’
‘You must be better than good, because my guys have gotten nowhere with the paperwork. They said it’s one shell company after another.’
‘I managed to get a few details about him, but not much. Apparently, he’s a well-known Finnish scientist who dropped off the face of the earth a few months ago. My assistant is trying to track down some additional information about his past, but my guess is we’ll have more luck at the Karolinska Institute.’
Eklund checked his watch. ‘Olsen and his colleagues should be arriving soon. If you’d like, we can stop by my favorite bakery for some coffee and pastries before we head over there. Do you like fruit tarts?’
Dial licked his lips in anticipation. ‘I bet I will.’
After picking up their breakfast in a charming old-world bakery, they climbed into Eklund’s car and headed north toward the institute.
Although the trip was a short distance in miles, it felt like a long journey through time as they left the ancient streets for the modern part of the city. Dial was startled by the contrast between the historic feel of the old town and the futuristic architecture of the adjacent islands. He envied the way that Stockholm had been able to preserve its history while still embracing innovation. It truly was spectacular.
‘You know,’ he said as he sipped his coffee, ‘I’ve traveled all over the world, to every continent on the globe, but I’ve never seen a country like this. Sweden is simply gorgeous.’
Eklund beamed with pride. ‘Thank you. It is a wonderful place to call home.’
‘Maybe I will someday,’ Dial offered.
Sensing an opportunity, Eklund mustered the courage to ask a question that had been weighing on him for some time. ‘Nick, why are you doing this?’
‘Doing what?’
‘The investigation,’ Eklund clarified. ‘Why are you involving yourself? I’m not saying I don’t want you here, or that you’re in the way – of course I’m not saying that – but I would like to understand why. You could coordinate the information from the station. Hell, you could probably do it from France. But you’re here, in my car, on your way to hear what these scientists might have to say, rather than reading their conclusions later.’
Dial sat back in his seat. He rarely discussed his life – personal or professional – with those he met on the job. But Eklund’s question was legitimate, and Dial felt that he somehow owed him an explanation – especially since Eklund had paid for breakfast.
‘Back in ’93, I was stationed in the southwest United States when a religious sect called the Branch Davidians faced off against the ATF and the FBI near Waco, Texas. For fifty-one days their leader, a self-proclaimed prophet named David Koresh, held us at bay. They were well armed, bunkered in, and threatening the lives of twenty-eight kids, so we tried to wait them out as long as we could. Eventually, orders were given to raid the compound, but everything went to shit when the Davidians started three fires, thereby blocking the exits. In the end, four ATF agents lost their lives, and eighty-two church members were killed in the blaze. It was a horrible scene.’
‘Did you know them? The agents?’
‘Conway LeBleu, Todd McKeehan, Robert Williams and Steven Willis … I didn’t know them before they died, but I’ll never forget those names. They’ll stay with me for ever.’
Eklund nodded in understanding.
‘Exactly two years to the day, an American terrorist named Timothy McVeigh parked a rental truck filled with five thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate outside the Federal Building in Oklahoma City. He did it in protest at the government’s actions in Waco. Most employees had just started their workday when McVeigh lit the fuse. The blast tore through the north face of the building. One hundred and sixty-eight were killed. Eight hundred more were injured. I arrived less than two hours later.’
Dial had worked non-stop, all day and all night, pulling victims from the rubble and collecting evidence in between. Based on blast patterns, his team had figured out where in the smoldering wreckage they should be searching for the suspect’s vehicle. When they found an axle and pieces of a license plate, they were able to link the truck to a rental agency in Junction City, Kansas. The agency’s owner remembered McVeigh and provided a detailed description to the FBI, who used the sketch to implicate him in the bombing.
‘I remember that,’ Eklund said. ‘He was convicted on multiple counts.’
‘And he was executed for his crimes on June 11, 2001. Maybe the best night of sleep I’ve ever had.’
It wasn’t an exaggeration. Dial had slept like a baby that night. For the first time in years, he was able to close his eyes without seeing burned and mangled corpses, their lifeless faces staring back at him in a plea for help that wouldn’t come. They had haunted his dreams since the day of the bombing, as if their final journey could not be completed until the man who had killed them had been sent to hell.
‘I’m not a religious man,’ he said in summation, ‘but I do believe in justice. It’s the reason I became a cop. It’s the reason I work for Interpol. And it’s the reason I’m in this car. As much as I’d like to pack my things and head back home, that is no longer an option. Now that I’m a part of this investigation, I plan on sticking around until the case is solved.’
25
The parking lot near Olsen’s office had been empty the night before except for the doctor’s white Volvo. Today, six vehicles – four cars, a scooter and a bicycle – were parked outside the building. Dial hoped it was a positive sign. With any luck, it meant Olsen had come through on his promise to deliver a panel of experts to explain the science in the investigation.
Before leaving the institute, Eklund had arranged for some of the animal remains to be transported to Olsen’s lab, along with several tissue samples, pictures of the crime scene, and anything else he felt was appropriate. Since that time, the doctor’s car hadn’t moved an inch.
Dial pointed at the Volvo. ‘Apparently, none of us got a good night’s sleep.’
‘I told you: give him a project, and his focus is absolute.’
‘I just hope he has something to tell us.’
Eklund led Dial into the lobby and down the long corridor toward the small lecture hall where they had agreed to meet Olsen. Twenty meters from the doorway, they found the young police officer that Eklund had left to protect the chain of evidence. He was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled close to his chest. His head was buried in his folded arms.
‘Is he asleep?’ Dial asked.
‘Not asleep,’ the young man said without raising his head. ‘I just couldn’t take it anymore.’
‘Gunnar, what are you talking about?’ Eklund asked.
Hearing his name, the cop’s head jerked upward. He was stunned to see his boss and his boss’s boss standing in front of him. He jumped from the floor and stood at attention. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I thought it was them again. They’ve been squawking all night like parrots.’
Eklund leaned forward and sniffed the air. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘No, sir! Of course not, sir! I’ve been standing guard all night.’
‘Then why are you babbling about birds?’
‘It’s them, sir. The scientists. They won’t stop their incessant bickering. And they keep saying the same things over and over again like parrots – really smart parrots.’
Eklund glared at the youngster. ‘And the evidence?’
‘My partner took it back to headquarters, sir, after Dr Olsen had completed his examination. For everyone’s protection, I decided to stay until you arrived.’
Eklund nodded his approval, a sign that pleased the rookie cop. Unfortunately for him, the moment was short-lived. ‘What have they learned?’
Gunnar’s smile faded. ‘I honestly don’t know, sir. Most of the science terms are things I’ve never heard before, and I didn’t want to interrupt for an explanation. They kept talking, faster and faster, using words and concepts that I didn’t understand. Eventually it all became a blur.’ He hung his head. ‘I came out here to get away from it and clear my mind.’
‘No shame in that,’ Eklund offered. ‘Your job was to safeguard the evidence. You did that and more. Now go home and get some rest.’
Gunnar lifted his head. ‘If you need me to stay …’
‘A bit of advice,’ Dial said as he patted the rookie on his shoulder. ‘If you’re offered a chance to sleep, you sleep. No matter what.’
‘Yes, sir. I will, sir. Good luck with … well … them.’ With that, Gunnar turned and practically ran toward the lobby before his superior changed his mind.
Eklund and Dial continued down the empty corridor. As they approached the meeting room, they could hear a cacophony of voices inside. The steel doors of the hall muffled the sound in such a way that they could not tell if topics were being discussed, debated, or outright argued, but one thing was certain: there was intensity to the tone.
Side by side, they pushed open the double doors and stepped into the hall. Their entrance caused the group inside to fall silent. The scientists turned and stared warily at the strangers. For a moment, Dial felt like a sheriff in the American Old West, sauntering into a rowdy saloon. Everyone stopped and waited for him to make a move.
Instead, the two lawmen just stood there and glared.
No words were spoken, but their point was made.
They were in charge of the meeting.
Olsen broke the tension with an introduction. ‘Everyone, this is Special Agent Johann Eklund of the National Police, and Director Nick Dial of Interpol’s homicide division.’ He turned toward the officers and smiled. ‘Rather than introduce my colleagues en masse, let’s save their names until they offer their opinions on the crime scene.’
‘That’ll be fine,’ Eklund said.
Olsen turned and faced his peers, who were settling into their seats in the first row of the lecture hall. ‘Suffice it to say, the men and women gathered here are at the top of their respective fields. We’ve been discussing your findings for several hours now, and while we’re not prepared to draw any definitive conclusions about the laboratory, we are fairly certain we can provide the background information that you seek.’
Dial furrowed his brow. There was a drastic change in Olsen; he was like a different person in the lecture hall. Now in his element, he had transformed from the detached scientist he had been in the lab into a verbose academic. Of course, it only stood to reason, since lectures were an integral part of a professor’s work. Whether information was being conveyed to students, colleagues, or the investigators of a murder, the basic skills remained the same.
Olsen continued. ‘Let’s start with Dr Cassandra Larsson.’
One of the two women in the room – and by far the youngest scientist in the group – rose from her seat and walked to Olsen’s side.
