Mountain Ghost: A Polar Task Force Thriller, Book #2 (PolarPol)

by Christoffer Petersen

  “Active?”

  “As in not dead.”

  “So there’s more than the social media activity?”

  “Not according to Gina’s investigation.”

  “Okay,” Etienne said, as he leaned back in his seat. “First, how come you’ve got the police report, when all I got was the official invitation and a reminder of our role and jurisdiction – what we can and can’t do in Sweden.”

  Evelyn tilted her head to one side and grinned. “You’re the boss,” she said.

  “And you get the juicy stuff. Okay, scratch that – you get the relevant information. I get the rulebook.”

  “Actually,” Evelyn said, as she scrolled through the first document. “Juicy is the right word. There’s a section here that I had to translate, and I’m not sure I got the whole meaning – Google has its limitations.”

  Etienne looked over Evelyn’s shoulder. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “Here,” she said, tapping the screen with the nibbled nail of her index finger. “Lindström has some interesting acquaintances. It looks like he’s had dealings with some of Sweden’s less savoury types.”

  “Organised crime?”

  “At a guess? Yes. But, like I said, I had to translate some of this myself.” Evelyn looked up as the call for boarding was announced over the loudspeaker. “I guess we’ll have to ask Gina,” she said, closing her laptop.

  “And Berglund.” Etienne plucked another piece of jerky from Evelyn’s bag before she tucked it into the side pocket of her daypack. “We’ll ask them both.”

  “My money’s on the cop.”

  “What?”

  Evelyn shrugged her pack onto her shoulder and slipped her arm back into the sling. “Berglund is with the security services.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, I’m guessing that Gina will be more open. She’s one of us, remember?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  Etienne walked with Evelyn to the check-in desk, smiled at the appreciative comments about her uniform, and her hat especially, and wondered how they would have reacted if he had worn his ceremonial uniform to match. Scandinavia was remarkably neat and clean – functional, was another word that came to mind. But as they boarded their flight, Etienne found himself longing for the more traditional and adventurous icons and images associated with North America. Evelyn found their seats and a safe place for her hat, tucking it away in the overhead locker.

  “Next stop Gällivare,” she said, brushing loose strands of her hair behind her ear as Etienne sat down. “It’s just the two of us?”

  “Hákon’s on sick leave,” Etienne said, as he sat down. “Vitaly’s been recalled – standard procedure, so I’m told. And the Logan is having its systems updated. Which, between you and me, is bureaucrat-speak for meddling. Try running that through Google.”

  “I don’t have to,” Evelyn said. “It means we’re on our own on this one.”

  “That it does.” Etienne reached for the in-flight magazine, flicked through the first few pages, then tucked it back into seat in front of him. “I think I’ll just close my eyes for a bit.”

  “Sure.”

  Etienne nodded once.

  He was snoring before the wheels left the ground.

  The winter shrouded Gällivare with black skies, dark grey clouds, and splinters of frost spinning through the air. Evelyn grinned as the frost bit at their cheeks and the tips of their ears outside the airport. She said something about home, before swapping her uniform hat for a thin fleece one she tugged out of her pocket. She removed her sling and zipped it into her pack as a police patrol car pulled up by the kerb outside the main entrance. The tyres squealed in the snow.

  “Trooper Odell?” the officer said, as she stepped out of the car.

  “That’s me.”

  “And Inspector?”

  “Gagnon,” Etienne said, as he greeted the woman. “Call me Etienne.”

  “I’ll try,” she said. “My French isn’t so good. I’m Kriminalinspektör Gina Lång.” Gina shrugged as she shook hands. “I’m a sergeant. And,” she said. “I’m also hungry. Have you eaten?”

  “Not much,” Etienne said.

  “And you?”

  “Starving,” Evelyn said, as Gina waved them into the car.

  “Well, we can talk in the car.”

  Gina’s brisk manner matched her driving, faster than Etienne might have driven on hard-packed snow in Canada. But this is Sweden, he thought, a gentle reminder as he settled into the back seat, brushing dog fur from the covers as he searched for the seatbelt. Gina looked at him once in the rear-view mirror and then accelerated into the dark. The streetlights were clustered around buildings and built-up areas, giving Etienne glimpses of Gina’s face, the birthmark on her cheek, the twist of her nose, and her bright intelligent eyes, in the glare of the oncoming traffic – few and then fewer the further they drove from the airport.

  “This place is good,” Gina said, bumping the patrol car over a lip of ice as she slowed to park beside a grill bar. “I come here a little too often,” she said, with a pat of her belly, before opening the car door. She left the engine running and waved her guests inside the square building. The glass was frosted, and ice lined the sills of the windows closest to the ground. Gina parked Etienne and Evelyn on stools at a high, narrow table running the length of the grill bar, while she ordered. “Hot dogs and mashed potatoes,” she said, calling over her shoulder. “Swedish style.”

  She slid paper trays of food along the table, returning to the counter for three large cups of coffee. Gina swapped a few words in Swedish with the assistant, before settling down on the stool beside Etienne.

  “So, you’re here to help me find Mats?” she said, dipping her sausage into the mash.

  “Originally, we were supposed to interview him.”

  “I know.” Gina wiped a spot of gravy from her chin. “For some polar police thing.”

  “Polarpol,” Etienne said.

  “That’s what I said.” Gina paused for a slurp of coffee, bringing a smile to Evelyn’s lips as the Swedish sergeant returned to her sausage. “Eat up,” Gina said. “We have to go soon.”

  “Where?”

  “We’re meeting Filippa Lindström in half an hour.” Gina mopped up the last of her mash with the end of her sausage. “That’s Mats’ little sister. She’s the one who says he’s still alive.”

  “It’s not too late for an interview?” Etienne said, gesturing at the dark skies, and resisting the urge to look at his watch.

  “It’s over a month since he went missing,” Gina said. “Not a word, and now everything at once. All his social media, mostly Facebook. The family thought he was dead. Maybe he still is. But…” Gina tossed her paper tray into the trash bin. “Now that you’re here, we should get going.”

  Etienne’s phone buzzed inside his jacket. The screen shone with the name Jöns Berglund as he pulled it out of his pocket.

  “No time for that,” Gina said, swiping a thick finger across the screen, ending the call before Etienne had chance to answer. “We have to go.”

  “Gina,” Etienne said, as she opened the door. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re in an awful hurry.”

  “Because we have to meet Filippa.” Gina frowned as if expecting Etienne to understand.

  “Jöns Berglund is my contact,” Etienne said, turning his phone towards Gina as Berglund called a second time.

  “Yes?”

  “Is he waiting for me at the airport?”

  “He might be.”

  Evelyn bit her lip to stifle a smile.

  “That’s not helping, Odell,” Etienne said.

  “I know, but Gina’s trying so hard to kidnap us, I think we should let her.”

  Gina pointed at Evelyn, and said, “You, I like. Now,” she said, pointing at their food. “Bring your sausage. You can eat while I drive. We have to go.”

  Chapter 5

  Gina dro
ve west along Europaväg 45 towards the town of Gällivare, switching the wipers between fast and intermittent according to the wind. Etienne pressed his face to the window, searching the dark landscape for features, knowing there were mountains in the area, but seeing nothing bigger than the drifts lining the roads. The moon was hidden in the dense grey winter clouds, sealing the Arctic town in thick flurries of snow, and, according to Gina, grounding all remaining flights out of Gällivare Lapland Airport.

  “At least a few days, maybe a week,” she said. “I’ve seen the weather reports. You were lucky to land when you did.”

  She said nothing more until they approached the town. Gina waved at the taxi drivers, slowed for buses, checking her mirrors often between scanning the snowy streets. Etienne smiled as he recognised the classic and apparently global driving habits of a police officer on patrol. Gina pointed out a few of the more obvious sights, as she called them, but offered little more information. Etienne glanced at the police radio in the dashboard, curious that he hadn’t heard it since getting into the car.

  “Is it a slow night?” he asked, nodding at the radio when Gina caught his eye in the mirror.

  “A regular night,” she said. “Why?”

  “There’s no chatter. Nothing on the radio.”

  Evelyn looked over her shoulder, swapping a look as if to say now that you mention it.

  “I turned the volume down,” Gina said. And then, “Nearly there. This is Koppavägen. All these streets are named after metals. Gällivare is a mining town.”

  “So koppa is copper?” Evelyn asked.

  “Yes, and this,” Gina said, slowing to turn into the first street on her right, “is Silverringen. Mats’ house is on…”

  “Zinkringen.” Evelyn smiled as Gina looked at her. “It was in your report.”

  Gina slowed the patrol car to a stop, and then pointed at a wooden house with Christmas lights lining the windows.

  “Filippa lives here,” she said. Gina started to open the door, then cursed as a car parked behind them, the headlights reflecting in the rear-view mirror. “Stay in the car. This won’t take long.”

  Etienne turned to see a tall, bald man wearing thick glasses get out of the car behind them. The rumble of the black SUV’s engine filtered into the interior of the patrol car.

  “What do you think?” Etienne said, as he peered through the snow, curious that each time the man pointed or took a step closer to the patrol car, Gina blocked him.

  “Black oversized SUV,” Evelyn said. “Tall fella in a suit. I’m guessing he’s SÄPO.”

  “Swedish security service.” Etienne nodded. “That’s my bet too.”

  “Jöns Berglund.”

  Etienne turned to look at Evelyn. “You remembered?”

  “I’m good with names.”

  “Then he’s my contact.” Etienne reached for the door handle, then frowned when it didn’t open.

  “Wait a second.” Evelyn scanned the dashboard, looking for the switch to release the child locks. “Got it.”

  Etienne heard the click and tried the door, just as Gina bumped her hip against it, sealing him inside.

  “Yep,” Evelyn said, as Etienne cursed. “Now I’m convinced. She’s definitely kidnapping us.”

  “And I’m tired of this.” Etienne slid over to the other side of the car, opening the passenger door at the same time as Evelyn opened hers. They both stepped into the street, turning the man’s head and drawing a shout from the Gina to wait in the car.

  “Inspector Gagnon?” the man said, extending his hand as he walked around the rear of the patrol car. “Jöns Berglund. We talked on the phone.”

  “Yes,” Etienne said. “And this is Trooper Evelyn Odell.”

  “Perfect,” Gina said. “Now that we’re all acquainted…”

  “Sergeant Lång,” Berglund said. “You are obstructing the course of this investigation.”

  “Whose investigation?” Gina slapped the roof of the patrol car. “Damn it all, Berglund. This case is mine. You know that. You’re the one obstructing things, slowing things down.”

  Berglund walked back towards Gina, pointing to the northwest, raising his voice as Gina started to protest. “Mats Lindström is one of mine. He works for SÄPO.”

  “And he went missing in Gällivare.” Gina turned as a young woman opened the front door of the house. “That’s his sister…”

  “I know who Filippa is,” Berglund said.

  “And I have an interview with her. I’m taking these two with me. You can wait in your car.”

  “You’re withholding information again, Lång.”

  Gina reached inside the police patrol car for a plastic shopping bag, tucking it under her arm, before waving for Etienne and Evelyn to follow her. “I’ll share everything with you.”

  “But you won’t let me inside?”

  “No.”

  Gina took a step up the snow-lined drive.

  “I’ll have your badge, Lång.”

  “You can try,” Gina said, waving over her shoulder as she walked to the door. She switched to Swedish, and said, “Sorry about this, Filippa.”

  Filippa Lindström wrapped her thin cardigan around her waist, gripping the cuffs of her sleeves in her small fists. Clumps of snow flurried onto the fringe of her brown hair as she stared at Berglund.

  “I won’t have him in the house.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s not welcome.”

  “He’s going to wait in the car, Filippa. Is that all right?” Gina reached out, pressing her hand gently on Filippa’s arm. “Filippa?”

  “Who are they?”

  Gina switched back to English as Etienne and Evelyn approached the door. “These are the people I told you about,” she said. “Etienne is with the Canadian police. Evelyn is from Alaska. They’re from Polarpol.”

  “Polar what?”

  “It’s like Interpol or Europol,” Etienne said, stepping forwards. “We’re here to help find your brother.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was supposed to join us. He was on our list of potential officers from Sweden.”

  “He’s not a police officer,” Filippa said.

  “He used to be.” Gina cast a glance over her shoulder as Berglund got back into the SUV and slammed the door. “It’s cold Filippa. Can we come in?”

  Filippa nodded, then slipped back inside the house.

  “Shoes off,” Gina whispered as they entered.

  The walls inside the hall of Filippa’s house were painted a deep red, the stairs stained with a dark varnish. It would have been dark and oppressive were it not for the candles flickering in the last draught of air from the open door, reflecting off the walls and lighting the white sills and frames of the frosted windows. Filippa led them from the hall and into the kitchen, nodding at the hooks on the wall as the police officers removed their jackets.

  “Filippa lives alone,” Gina said, as Filippa made coffee. “Her husband died two years ago.” Gina paused as Filippa turned, adding, “He worked in the forest. It was a fatal accident.”

  “I’m sorry,” Etienne said. He took a seat at the table when Filippa gestured for them to sit. Evelyn sat beside him, while Gina took the seat opposite, next to Filippa.

  “Why don’t you start, Filippa,” she said. “I’ll pour the coffee.”

  “Okay,” Filippa said. “But my English…”

  “Is fine,” Gina said, pressing her hand gently on Filippa’s shoulder as she stood. She hung the plastic bag on the back of the chair.

  “It started just before Christmas,” Filippa said.

  “What did?” Etienne asked.

  Evelyn took out her notepad and smiled, waiting for Filippa to continue.

  “His social media. It woke up.” Filippa hid her fingers inside her cardigan sleeves, pressing her nails through the wool cuffs into the edge of the table. “Mats went missing at the end of November. He left a suicide note. We all thought he was dead.” Filippa paused for a breath. “It
’s been difficult.”

  “I can imagine,” Etienne said. He whispered a quiet thanks to Gina as she placed a mug of coffee in front of him and Evelyn.

  “We thought he was gone. I took time off work, spent most of it with Márjá and Niillas – Mats’ wife and son,” she said. “Then, just after Christmas, someone tagged a picture on Facebook. They tagged it with Mats’ profile.”

  “Was it a picture?” Evelyn asked. “Like a meme or…”

  Filippa shook her head. “It was a photo. From a party.”

  “Recent?”

  “Yes. A Christmas party.”

  Evelyn made a note. “Local?”

  “I don’t know. The photo was from inside a house. Lots of people – like a group photo.”

  Gina took the plastic bag from the chair as she sat down. She pulled out a thin paper envelope and placed an A4 printed image on the table.

  “That’s the one,” Filippa said. She tapped her finger on a slim man wedged between several party guests. “That’s Mats.”

  “And this one?” Gina pulled another photo from the folder and placed it next to the first.

  “Another party. He was tagged in that one too.”

  “There’s a time stamp in the corner,” Gina said, turning the photo for Etienne to look at it. “December twenty-third. A month since he went missing.”

  “Time stamps can be manipulated,” Etienne said, looking up. “I’m sorry, Filippa…”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Filippa works at the bank,” Gina said. “She’s familiar with computers.”

  “I’m not stupid, Gina.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “But you’ve printed out these photos.” Filippa flicked a finger out of her cardigan cuffs, pushing one photo away from the other. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “Tell me,” Gina said. She curled her hand around her mug and took a sip of coffee, watching Filippa over the lip of the mug.

  “You think the photos are fake. You think someone Photoshopped Mats into the party. Don’t you?”

  “It’s a theory,” Gina said. She put down her mug and placed one photo over the other, until the images of Mats were side by side. “Same posture,” she said. “Always squeezed into the group, as if someone else has been squeezed out.” She pushed the images towards Etienne, taking another sip of coffee as she waited for him to comment.