“I want you back here on Monday so the prosecutor doesn’t need to worry about our resources being overstretched. Thomas could probably do with some help, and I think Ms. Öhman would prefer you to be here for the rest of the investigation.”

“I understand. I’ll be there.”

Margit was well aware of what the situation required and made no objections. Things were serious. Three dead bodies within the space of just a few weeks, and no resolution in sight.

CHAPTER 37

Erik and Thomas looked around the Systemet warehouse. There were bottles as far as the eye could see in all directions. The walls were lined with pallets stacked with boxes containing wines and spirits.

“I’ve never seen this much booze in my life,” Kalle said. “If you don’t turn into an alcoholic working here, you never will.”

He walked over to one of the boxes and peered at the bottles. “Look, it’s Dom Pérignon. A bottle like this costs over a thousand kronor, I think. Not bad for just five or six glasses, right?” He picked up a bottle and pretended to drink from it.

Thomas laughed; it was almost inconceivable that so much alcohol could be gathered in one place. He wondered what the total value of the contents of the warehouse might be. An enormous amount, no doubt. He hoped Systemet was well insured against fire; it would be no joke if the place burned down. It would probably provide the biggest fireworks display since the millennium party.

Krister’s boss came over to them. He introduced himself to Erik, who had some difficulty in suppressing a smirk when he heard the man’s name: Viking Strindberg. The name suggested a tall, well-built figure of a man, but in reality Viking Strindberg was small and skinny, with round glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked as if he belonged behind a desk rather than in a place like this, surrounded by bottles and forklifts.

He asked if they would like coffee and pointed to a machine in the corner.

Thomas declined. The machine looked alarmingly like the one in Nacka’s police station. Erik, however, who would happily drink engine oil if it were offered, accepted a cup without hesitation.

They followed Viking Strindberg to a conference room at one end of the depot. There was an oval desk in the center of the room, surrounded by blue chairs. Along one wall a range of Absolut spirits was displayed on a narrow table.

Erik and Thomas sat down across from Viking Strindberg.

“I thought you’d found out everything you wanted to know last time we spoke,” Viking Strindberg began, glancing at Thomas.

“Not quite. We’d just like to check one or two more things,” Thomas said as he worked out how to phrase his first question. No point beating about the bush. “Do you have any reason to believe Krister Berggren may have been involved in any kind of organized crime related to Systemet?”

“Absolutely not,” came the swift response. “It’s out of the question.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“If you’d met Krister, you’d understand. He just wasn’t the type. I don’t think he would ever have had the nerve to do such a thing. He might have taken the odd bottle home from time to time, but that’s not something I’ve looked into. Certain things just aren’t worth making a fuss over,” he said with a shrug.

“If I worked here I think I might be tempted to start selling booze on the side. So that wouldn’t be picked up, then?” Thomas said with a meaningful look at Erik.

“We have excellent security procedures, I can assure you.”

“But you just said Krister probably took home the odd bottle—your security procedures didn’t pick that up, did they?”

Viking straightened up and took a sip of his coffee. To be on the safe side he took another sip before putting the cup down on the table. He didn’t seem all that happy with the turn the conversation had taken.

“I’ve already spoken to you about Krister Berggren. I don’t understand what else there is to say.”

“I think there’s plenty to say.” Erik joined in. “You mean there’s no wastage here?”

“Of course there is, but I don’t see what that has to do with Berggren’s death.”

“That depends what kind of volume we’re talking about.” Thomas leaned forward. The little man’s arrogance was annoying him. He could at least cooperate with the police in an investigation into the death of an employee. “According to my research, Systemet sold something in the area of two hundred million bottles of wine last year. Let me see,” he said. “If my calculations are correct, that means that as little as one percent of that volume corresponds to two million bottles. Just half of one percent equals one million. Most companies within the retail sector allow for a considerably higher level of wastage than that.”

Viking Strindberg was looking at Thomas like he wanted to kill him. “I can’t tell you the exact level of wastage or the sums of money involved,” he said. “That’s confidential information. But I don’t think it’s anything serious. Definitely not.” He tapped the desk with the palm of his hand to emphasize what he had just said.

Thomas wasn’t impressed. References to confidential information were irrelevant in the middle of a murder investigation. “Please bear in mind that you’re talking to the police. Now let me ask you again: Do you have any wastage here?”

Strindberg didn’t look quite so cocky now. He took off his glasses and put them back on again. Then he ran his hand over the small amount of gray hair he had left. “We do have a certain amount of wastage, of course; it’s unavoidable. Particularly in this trade. But we have very good procedures for dealing with that kind of thing.”

“If someone could sell hundreds of thousands of bottles on the side, how much would they be able to make?” Erik asked the question as if it were routine.

It took Viking Strindberg a long time to answer. He ran his hand over his head once again before he spoke. “It’s hard to say. Obviously it depends on how much you charge. We could be talking about big money.”

“Big enough to murder someone over?” Erik asked.

Viking Strindberg looked quite ill now. “I can’t possibly answer that.” He glanced around. “You’ll have to contact our security department if you want to discuss that kind of thing.”

Erik wasn’t prepared to give up. “Who would be interested in buying cheap booze?”

Beads of sweat appeared on Strindberg’s forehead. “I’ve no idea what they get up to in the catering business. It has nothing to do with me.”

SATURDAY, THE THIRD WEEK

CHAPTER 38

“Turn that damn music down!” Henrik shouted from upstairs.

“What did you say?” Nora shouted back.