The Murder of Olof Palme.
I had fallen down the stairs at least once before, slipping on a bunch of books and papers lying on one of the steps. So, my seven-year-old self (two months later I would be eight) carefully tiptoed down the lacquered wood, trying not to wake up my mom and her husband, who were sleeping in the room next to mine. It was a pretty normal morning on March 1, 1986, and like many other kids, I woke up early to watch Go’morron Sverige, the Saturday morning television show everyone watched — an institution on public television at the time. I didn’t watch it for the interviews or news but for the cartoons: Woody Woodpecker and Wile E. Coyote & the Road Runner. It was the perfect start to the weekend, cuddled up under a blanket — especially during cold February mornings. I don’t remember if we had snow that day, but if we did, my plan was probably to go out and play as much as possible, only to return home later for my mom’s warm food, playing with my awesome LEGO airport (in all honesty, I was mostly recreating spectacular airplane disasters with it), and reading Enid Blyton books (this was just moments before I discovered Agatha Christie, which made my bloodthirst even more intense, and later led me to journey into the wonderful world of Stephen King, but that’s another story).
This morning, however, turned out to be quite different. Instead of the usual clock (counting down for the program to start) meeting my young, innocent, and cartoon-lusting eyes, a message announced the following: “Go’morron Sverige canceled due to the murder of Olof Palme.” I ran up to my mom and her partner Harry, still sleeping in their bed, to tell them what was going on. I have a vague memory that my mom didn’t believe me at first, but soon she realized the seriousness of it and joined me in the living room to see it for herself. Yes, the Prime Minister of Sweden, Olof Palme, had been shot at point-blank range late the previous evening, surrounded by witnesses, on Sveavägen. The killer had disappeared into the cold night, up the stairs at Tunnelgatan, and as we later learned, would never be caught.
Some say Sweden lost its innocence that night, but I don’t know. To me, Palme was a charismatic, famous person, with piercing eyes and an impressive beak-like nose, and though I understood how serious this was, it was — much like the alleged submarine intrusions in the Swedish archipelago — more of an adventure than something that would shock me. The rest of the weekend, and the following days, weeks, and months, solely revolved around the murder and the fruitless hunt for the killer. Little did we know that it wouldn’t be until 2020 that the official investigation team would announce their suspect, Stig Engström (more commonly known as “The Skandia Man”), as the most likely murderer. Few agreed with this explanation, and as Stig passed away from an apparent suicide in June 2000, the case was officially closed. His life — and alleged crime — was later dramatized in the entertaining but heavily criticized Netflix drama The Unlikely Murderer.
What really happened that night has been scrutinized by both the official commission and private investigators ever since, but here’s what we know. On the evening of February 28, Palme arrived home from work at 6:30 PM and ate dinner with his wife, Lisbet. She had earlier that evening, around 5 PM, discussed with their son’s fiancée, Ingrid, going to the cinema. It was a Friday evening, after all. Ingrid had told Lisbet that they planned to either see The Mozart Brothers (Suzanne Osten, 1986) or My Life as a Dog (Lasse Hallström, 1985). Palme called his son, Mårten, and they discussed the cinema plans further, but no decision was made at the time. His son had already bought tickets to The Mozart Brothers, screening at the Grand cinema on Sveavägen. Lasse Hallström’s worldwide hit, My Life as a Dog, was screened at the Spegeln cinema, on Birger Jarlsgatan 16. Around 8 PM, Olof and Lisbet decided to join their son and his fiancée at the Grand and took the subway from Gamla Stan at 8:42 PM, arriving at their destination, the subway station Rådmansgatan at Sveavägen, five minutes later.
One detail that surprised several of the witnesses on the subway was the lack of bodyguards. One must realize that Palme was a highly controversial politician, and at the time, the hatred for him — both from the right and the left — was at its peak. His tax policies angered the rich and powerful, and even those who weren’t that rich or powerful. His aggressive criticism of the United States, support of Vietnam and other countries invaded by the US, and willingness to have a dialogue with the Soviet Union in the middle of the nuclear bomb scare and Cold War gave him a very controversial aura. He also worked closely with South Africa’s ANC, at the time labeled a terrorist organization, which infuriated the white fascist regime in that country. Still, he was seen as a sellout and populist politician by the left, especially since he had used his contacts and power to help his children gain access to exclusive education. His life was filled with rumors of love affairs outside of his marriage to Lisbet, the most famous one being with Shirley MacLaine. In later years, it has come out that in 1950 he was in contact with the CIA, giving them names of young Swedish left-wing radicals. It is said that they wanted him as a CIA asset, and the question is, of course, whether he ever entered that far into the US intelligence community?
So, the lack of bodyguards came as a surprise to many. This, however, wasn’t something new. Palme often sent home his bodyguards and spent the days and evenings without protection. He wanted, as much as possible, to live his life as a normal person. Some might say that entering the streets of Stockholm on a Friday night, at a time when he was as hated as he was, seemed like a stupid idea.
At 8:47 PM, the couple arrived at the Rådsmangatan subway station and met up with Mårten and Ingrid outside the Grand cinema. Palme went inside to buy tickets while the others stayed outside to chat. The movie started at approximately 9:15 PM and ended between 11:05 and 11:10 PM. One odd detail here is that one person in the audience was the later very famous actor and comedian Robert Gustafsson, who later played Stig Engström in Netflix’s The Unlikely Murderer. The two couples stayed and talked for a while outside the cinema, discussing whether they should go to Mårten’s place for a cup of tea, but Lisbet felt tired, and at 11:15 PM, Olof and Lisbet started to walk towards Gamla Stan and their home at Västerlånggatan 31, along Sveavägen, with Mårten and Ingrid heading in the other direction. Just after the snackbar at the Adolf Fredriks kyrkogata crossing, they crossed Sveavägen to the other side, where Lisbet wanted to do some window shopping at the clothing store Sari. They stopped briefly and continued south until they came to Tunnelgatan, where a man approached them from behind at 11:21 PM and shot Olof Palme in the back at point-blank range — killing him instantly — and slightly wounding Lisbet with the second shot, the bullet just grazing her back. The killer ran up Tunnelgatan, up the stairs, and disappeared forever.
Surrounded by witnesses on all sides, the killer was never identified, and the — to say the least — chaotic investigation that started minutes later effectively destroyed any chances of actually capturing the assailant. Was it a conspiracy to kill an enemy, conducted by some unknown political power, fascist cops striking back at Palme for his friendliness towards the Soviet Union (the rumor among the fascists was that he was going to sell out Sweden so it would become a satellite state of the Soviet Union), or maybe a lone madman taking his chance on the spur of the moment? The discussions are still ongoing to this day, and new books are published every year, digging deeper into the rabbit hole.
Where do I stand on this? I’m intrigued by the mystery of it — not necessarily the why, but the how. How was such a murder — or assassination — planned? Was it planned at all? The conspiracy part of it all, just like with the JFK assassination, the why-did-it-happen part, is of less interest to me. What intrigues me are the shenanigans around it, the characters in the front and back rows of this drama. But yeah, the “why” belongs in these kinds of mysteries, and it’s difficult to avoid. Most of the literature written about the case is in Swedish, but for two very different views on the subject, check out the Netflix show — and even better — the documentary series The Man Who Played with Fire, about Jan Stocklassa’s book and investigation into the murder, The Man Who Played with Fire: Stieg Larsson’s Lost Files and the Hunt for an Assassin, using the archive of the late Stieg Larsson (the guy who wrote The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo). The latter dives deep into the South Africa connection, which I must admit, is very fascinating.
There are many, many theories regarding why and how Olof Palme was murdered. I might share some of these here for you to enjoy. Just let me know. It might take some time though — it is, after all, the world’s largest and most extensive murder investigation…
Fred Andersson is a Swedish story producer, researcher and writer with over twenty years of experience in commercial television and the author of Northern Lights: High Strangeness in Sweden, out now from Beyond the Fray Publishing. He lives in Märsta, outside Stockholm, with his partner Grzegorz and two overly active cats. Join him on Twitter and Instagram.
