CONTENTS
PROLOGUE A FRIDAY IN NOVEMBER
PART 1 Incentive
CHAPTER 1 Friday, December 20
CHAPTER 2 Friday, December 20
CHAPTER 3 Friday, December 20-Saturday, December 21
CHAPTER 4 Monday, December 23-Thursday, December 26
CHAPTER 5 Thursday, December 26
CHAPTER 6 Thursday, December 26
CHAPTER 7 Friday, January 3
PART 2 Consequence Analyses
CHAPTER 8 Friday, January 3-Sunday, January 5
CHAPTER 9 Monday, January 6-Wednesday, January 8
CHAPTER 10 Thursday, January 9-Friday, January 31
CHAPTER 11 Saturday, February 1-Tuesday, February 18
CHAPTER 12 Wednesday, February 19
CHAPTER 13 Thursday, February 20-Friday, March 7
CHAPTER 14 Saturday, March 8-Monday, March 17
PART 3 Mergers
CHAPTER 15 Friday, May 16-Saturday, May 31
CHAPTER 16 Sunday, June 1-Tuesday, June 10
CHAPTER 17 Wednesday, June 11-Saturday, June 14
CHAPTER 18 Wednesday, June 18
CHAPTER 19 Thursday, June 19-Sunday, June 29
CHAPTER 20 Tuesday, July 1-Wednesday, July 2
CHAPTER 21 Thursday, July 3-Thursday, July 10
CHAPTER 22 Thursday, July 10
CHAPTER 23 Friday, July 11
PART 4 Hostile Takeover
CHAPTER 24 Friday, July 11-Saturday, July 12
CHAPTER 25 Saturday, July 12-Monday, July 14
CHAPTER 26 Tuesday, July 15-Thursday, July 17
CHAPTER 27 Saturday, July 26-Monday, July 28
CHAPTER 28 Tuesday, July 29-Friday, October 24
CHAPTER 29 Saturday, November 1-Tuesday, November 25
EPILOGUE: FINAL AUDIT THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 27-TUESDAY, DECEMBER 30
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
PROLOGUE
A Friday in November
It happened every year, was almost a ritual. And this was his eighty-second birthday. When, as usual, the flower was delivered, he took off the wrapping paper and then picked up the telephone to call Detective Superintendent Morell who, when he retired,
had moved to Lake Siljan in Dalarna. They were not only the same age, they had been born on the same day – which was something of an irony under the circumstances. The old policeman was sitting with his coffee, waiting, expecting the call.
“It arrived.”
“What is it this year?”
“I don’t know what kind it is. I’ll have to get someone to tell me what it is. It’s white.”
“No letter, I suppose.”
“Just the flower. The frame is the same kind as last year. One of those do-it-yourself ones.”
“Postmark?”
“Stockholm.”
“Handwriting?”
“Same as always, all in capitals. Upright, neat lettering.”
With that, the subject was exhausted, and not another word was exchanged for almost a minute. The retired policeman leaned back in his kitchen chair and drew on his pipe. He knew he was no longer expected to come up with a pithy comment or any sharp question which would shed a new light on the case. Those days had long since passed, and the exchange between the two men seemed like a ritual attaching to a mystery which no-one else in the whole world had the least interest in unravelling.
The Latin name was Leptospermum (Myrtaceae) rubinette. It was a plant about four inches high with small, heather-like foliage and a white flower with five petals about one inch across.
The plant was native to the Australian bush and uplands, where it was to be found among tussocks of grass. There it was called Desert Snow. Someone at the botanical gardens in Uppsala would later confirm that it was a plant seldom cultivated in Sweden.
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