David King - Six Days in August ; The Story of Stockholm Syndrome

The Story of

Stockholm Syndrome

DAVID KING

Copyright 2020 by David King

All rights reserved

First Edition

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Book design by Daniel Lagin

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The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

Names: King, David, 1970- author.

Title: Six days in August : the story of Stockholm syndrome / David King.

Description: First edition. | New York, NY : W.W. Norton & Company, [2020] | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019058100 | ISBN 9780393635089 (hardcover) |

ISBN 9780393635096 (epub)

Subjects: LCSH: Bank robberiesSwedenStockholmCase studies. | PoliceSweden. | Hostage negotiationsSweden. | HostagesSweden. | Stockholm syndrome.

Classification: LCC HV7040.S7 K56 2020 | DDC 364.15/52094873dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019058100

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To Sara, Julia, and Max

Not even Hollywood screenwriters in their wildest imagination could envision the drama that is playing out in this bank in the middle of Stockholm.

Malcolm McDowell,
actor in Stanley Kubricks A Clockwork Orange

Stockholm syndrome: the psychological tendency of a hostage to bond with, identify with, or sympathize with his or her captor.

This is how it began.

The day Stockholm held its breath

Aftonbladet, August 24, 1973

AUGUST 23, 1973

A FEW MINUTES BEFORE TEN OCLOCK ON A WARM, OVERCAST MORNING , a tall, muscular man in a gray zippered sweatshirt walked into the main branch of Sveriges Kreditbank, one of the most prominent banks in central Stockholm. He wore makeup, a ladies wig, and a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses. In his hand, he carried a bulky canvas bag.

The lobby was large and elegant, with white marble columns, a grand mahogany staircase, and a long teller counter where two clerks were busy helping customers. About thirty people were dispersed throughout the room. No one paid any particular attention to the man.

He took his place at the back of the line. He set the bag on the floor, unzipped his sweatshirt, ripped out a submachine gun, and fired a round into the ceiling.

The party starts! he shouted in English. Down on the floor!

Many people froze, but a few darted toward the exits. A handful of staff at the far end of the room quickly retreated out of sight. Everyone else dropped to the floor, which was now littered with shattered glass and plaster from the ceiling.

The gunman started running about the room, shouting commands, pointing his weapon at frightened individuals and threatening to shoot anyone who did not obey. He pulled a transistor radio out of the bag and slammed it down. Rock music now blasted throughout the marbled lobby.

He dashed behind the teller counter and stopped near a woman who had ducked under a desk.

Get up! he shouted.

Turning to a male employee on the floor, the gunman ordered him to take a knife and a rope from his bag and tie her up. He then had two other women bound by their wrists and ankles. All the while, the gunmans finger quivered at the trigger. One minute he was laughing, one minute he was screaming. He seemed to be crazy, high on drugs, or both.

AT 10:02 A.M., THE METALLIC CLANG OF THE ALARM RANG OUT ACROSS town at the Kungsholmen police station. A radio dispatch then alerted patrol cars to the armed robbery and urged available officers to hurry to the scene.

Kreditbanken was located in a six-story building on the eastern corner of Norrmalmstorg, a bustling square in the capitals financial district. This was just a short walk from Norrbro, one of the famed bridges that earned Stockholm the nickname Venice of the North, and connected the busy modern commercial hub to its medieval heart with its veritable labyrinth of narrow, twisting cobblestone lanes.

The area boasted several of the countrys leading banks, as well as an array of chic boutiques, expensive hotels, and fashionable, high-end stores. There were offices for British Airways, Air France, Lufthansa, and Finnair. Around the corner was an oriental-rug showroom and a cinema that dated back to the 1920s. The high status of Norrmalmstorg is reflected on Swedens Monopoly board, where it takes the spot of Boardwalk.

The first policemen to arrive were Torgny Wallstrm and Ingemar hman in patrol car 232. A small gathering of people was already standing in the square looking in the direction of Berzelii Park. A larger group of spectators had gathered across the street. Perhaps the robber had already escaped, Wallstrm thought. As his colleague remained outside, Wallstrm drew his pistol and entered the bank.

The crime, he soon realized, was still in progress. He took cover behind a nearby counter that served the loans department.

The policeman saw a large figure with a submachine gun towering over the men and women sprawled out on the floor, lying as still as death. He was holding a young blond woman in front of him as a human shield. Two other women bound by their ankles and wrists remained at his side. Wallstrm heard several voices shouting, and he thought one of them sounded like he was speaking German. Was it an accomplice? How many robbers were in the building?

Above all, why had they not taken the money and run?

When Wallstrm inched his way forward, the gunman fired a shot in his direction, shattering glass in the door just ahead of him. Wallstrm flung himself back, hopped over the counter, and then found shelter in a small safe-deposit room used by the foreign exchange department. He joined about ten or eleven bank employees who were already hiding there.

_____

SIRENS OUTSIDE SIGNALED THE ARRIVAL OF ADDITIONAL POLICE CARS to Norrmalmstorg.

What a fucking long time it took for them to get here, the robber taunted, still speaking English.

Unbeknownst to the gunman, Wallstrm was not the only policeman who had entered the bank. At least four other officers had discovered an alternative access point via a neighboring staircase at Norrmalmstorg 2A. This led to the second floor, where the executives had their offices. From there it was just one flight of stairs down to the lobby.

One of these policemen was Inspector Ingemar Warpefeldt, a fifty-seven-year-old plainclothes detective inspector who had been driving nearby in his gray Volvo when he heard the radio call. A former bodyguard for the children of the prime minister, Warpefeldt entered the building and made his way to the second floor. Bank employees rushed about the corridors. Telephones kept ringing. Rumors circulated that there were two bank robbers, but no one seemed to know what was happening and so he decided to find out.