The killer's art

54

When Hugo Malmberg picked up the morning newspaper under the letterbox, he discovered a folded slip of paper that had landed partway under his extravagant wooden shoe rack from Norrgavel. It was a nice little piece of red paper. He thought it might be an unusually small advertisement, yet he had an eerie sense of foreboding as he opened it. Only a single word was printed inside: ‘Soon’. He went into the kitchen and sat down. The dogs were yapping at his feet, as if they too felt there was something menacing about the mysterious message.

He automatically wrapped his dressing-gown more tightly around him before he looked at the word again. It had been written with a black marker in bold letters — the same sort of print that might be used for an invitation to a party. Soon. What on earth could that mean? He felt a cold sweat come over him at the thought of its intent. This was clear evidence that he was actually being stalked. He hadn’t been imagining things, after all.

Ever since he’d seen the man on Vasterbron on that Friday night, he’d had a feeling that someone was spying on him. He’d also started to wonder whether he might be losing his mind.

But now there was no question. Somebody was after him. He suddenly felt vulnerable even in his own home, and he nervously glanced around the flat. This person knew where he lived, had come into the building and stood in front of his door. With trembling hands, Malmberg reached for the phone and punched in the number for the police. He had to wait a long time before he was transferred to someone who told him that if he wished to file a report, he would have to come down to the police station in person. Impatiently Malmberg hung up.

He sank down on to an armchair in the living room and tried to collect his thoughts. The only sound was the antique clock on the wall, ticking nervously. He needed to think clearly and objectively. Did this have anything to do with Egon’s murder?

In his mind he went over recent events, the people he’d met and what he’d done, but he couldn’t recall anything out of the ordinary.

Then he happened to think about the young man standing outside the gallery. There was something about his expression.

After he’d pulled himself together, Malmberg did go over to police headquarters on Kungsholmen and filed a report. The inspector who took the details seemed moderately interested. Malmberg was advised to come back if he received any further threats.

When he left the police station, he didn’t feel a bit reassured.

K nutas began the morning meeting with a question that had been nagging at him all weekend, although he’d pushed it aside out of sheer self-preservation. He had wanted to be able to devote himself to his family in peace and quiet.

He dropped a pile of weekend newspapers on the table. The headlines screamed: ‘ MURDERER BEHIND ART THEFT ’, ‘ HUNT FOR KILLER AT ART MUSEUM ’ and ‘ PANIC IN THE ART WORLD. ’ All of the newspapers made reference to the TV news programmes on Friday evening, when Johan Berg had reported that a sculpture stolen from a gallery in Visby owned by the murdered Egon Wallin had been left in front of the empty frame in Waldemarsudde.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ asked Knutas.

Everyone seated around the table looked worried, but the question prompted only muted murmuring as a few people shook their heads.

‘Who leaked this to the press?’ Knutas fixed his eyes on his colleagues.

‘Maybe you need to stop for a moment and calm down,’ said Wittberg crossly. ‘It didn’t necessarily come from here. Maybe somebody in Stockholm leaked the news. So many people are involved in this case that it makes the risk of a leak even greater.’

‘So none of you has talked to anyone outside of this room about the sculpture?’

Before anybody had time to answer, the door opened and Lars Norrby came in. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he mumbled. ‘My car wouldn’t start. I’m really getting tired of this freezing weather.’

His eyes fell on the evening paper with the big headline that Knutas was holding up, and then he caught sight of the rest of the papers spread out on the table.

‘That was unfortunate,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ growled Knutas. ‘Do you have any idea how this got out?’

‘Absolutely not. I’ve only given out the bare essentials to the press. As usual.’

‘The county police commissioner is on my back, demanding an explanation. What do all of you think I should do about it?’

There was utter silence in the room until Kihlgard spoke.

‘Come on now, Anders. What makes you think the leak came from here? Plenty of people might know about the sculpture being found at Waldemarsudde. The museum employees, for example. Can you really trust them not to talk?’

His colleagues seated at the table immediately agreed with him.

‘All right, we’re not going to waste time trying to find out who leaked the information. But let me emphasize again how important it is for all of you to show discretion,’ said Knutas. ‘Things like this can harm the investigation, and we can’t afford to have that happen. Lars, could you send out an internal memo about this?’

Norrby nodded without changing expression.