When Embla reached the front door, Miranda emerged from her room. Embla stepped out onto the landing, then turned to say goodbye. Without so much as a nod, Miranda closed the door. Embla heard a click, then the rattle of the nine-cylinder lock.
The girl couldn’t have made it any clearer. Embla wasn’t welcome.
On the way back to Gothenburg, Embla called Göran and played the conversation with Louise to him. When it was over she said she suspected that Louise was a heavy drinker and possibly a drug user. She told him about the little bags of powder in the bowl in the kitchen cupboard.
“I didn’t take one—she probably would have noticed, and I don’t want to make her think she can’t trust me. But I’m pretty sure it was cocaine.”
“No doubt she’s had easy access to drugs during all those years in Split. Kador could have supplied her with what she wanted. Or one of the other members of the gang,” Göran said.
“Jiri, maybe? She reacted oddly when we mentioned his name.”
“Exactly. And speaking of our friend Jiri, we’ve had confirmation that footprints from his boots were found in the cottage where Milo was murdered. The pattern on the sole is distinctive since there is damage to the right heel. He was wearing the same boots when we arrested him.
Embla laughed out loud.
“He’s made every mistake in the book! First of all he didn’t get rid of the murder weapon, and he left fingerprints on the magazine and a bullet. Then he took Milo’s keys and watch. And now the boots. He’s going down!”
“Absolutely. The guy’s an idiot—but a dangerous idiot. He was definitely involved in Kador’s murder, then he traveled to Sweden as quickly as possible, before Milo and Luca found out their brother was dead. As far as they knew, he was missing. The question is whether Jiri had help when he killed Milo and Luca. Stephen Walker’s witness testimony suggests that Jiri was alone when Luca was shot, but we don’t know about the cottage in Herremark; he could have had one or more of his associates with him, probably the guys in the Range Rover. Maybe they drove Jiri up to Ulvsjön after the murder. God knows why he stayed there.”
Embla thought about what he’d said. “It’s in the middle of nowhere—perhaps he felt safe there. Or he might have gotten stuck because of the blizzard.”
“Good point.”
“I’ve been wondering how Jiri knew about all three brothers’ movements leading up to their murders,” Embla went on.
“What do you mean?”
She paused, working out how to explain something that she’d been mulling over for a while. “The evening Kador was kidnapped and killed—Jiri must have known that he was planning to go home earlier than usual and that he’d be alone.”
“True—someone must have tipped off his murderers. I’m assuming there were at least two of them since they managed to overpower Kador and drive him up to the cottage in the mountains.”
“Jiri also knew that Luca was going straight home from work. Milo wasn’t in town, so Luca needed to take the meeting. That call was a trap, and as I said before, I think it came from Jiri. Then all he had to do was wait inside the parking lot.”
“Once again, I agree. Presumably Jiri simply suggested that they meet in Luca’s apartment.”
Encouraged by Göran’s positive reaction, Embla continued. “As far as Milo’s concerned, Jiri must have known that Milo was going up to Herremark and that he’d rented a cottage there. Someone must have tipped off Jiri or his associates in each case, or they couldn’t have possibly known where the brothers would be at those specific times.”
“I’m guessing the guys up at Ulvsjön were expecting Milo.” He fell silent and thought for a while. “Both Milo and Luca were lured to a particular place,” he continued. “My theory is that Milo went up to northern Dalsland to meet someone important—or so he thought. It must have involved big business for him to go personally. And given all the drugs and guns we found at Ulvsjön, it’s hardly surprising that he was interested, although we don’t know if he was buying or selling. Selling, I’d guess—we know the two Swedish guys were buyers. However, I’m convinced that the Zagreb gang set a trap for him. They might have intended to kill him at Ulvsjön, but for some reason they changed their minds and shot him in the cottage instead. Maybe they didn’t want to draw attention to the house at Ulvsjön, because they were planning to burn it down. The fact that one of the girls died was a fly in the ointment, of course.”
Too many guesses and not enough evidence.
“This is such a complicated case,” Embla said with a sigh.
“It is. So I think you should go home and get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.”
So have you. But if I know you as well as I think I do, you won’t be going home anytime soon, Embla thought.
When she got home she wandered restlessly around the apartment, unable to settle in front of the TV and take it easy. She realized what she needed: a hard training session.
She picked up her sports bag and her car keys and headed to the boxing gym where she’d trained from the beginning. It always stayed open late, and her former trainer, Sten “Sluggo” Olsson, was bound to be there. He would find her a good sparring partner. She needed someone tough; she had a lot to get out of her system. Her career as a competitor might be over, but she would never stop training. That was her therapy.
When Embla woke up on Friday morning, her entire body was aching. Wonderful. She smiled to herself. The training session had been perfect. After a thorough warm-up, she’d had to work really hard against her sparring partner. He was only eighteen and still had a lot to learn when it came to technique, but he was fast and had lightning reactions. A lithe, supple panther with the mentality of a pit bull—the ideal combination. Just like Embla herself, in fact. Hassan showed great promise for the future; he had the right attitude to the sport.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed with a low groan and got up. She felt full of confidence. There was still a lot to do, but things were beginning to fall into place in this complex case.
And later that night she was meeting Olle, and the whole weekend was theirs.
She walked into Göran’s office and found him sitting at the computer as usual. As far as she could see, he was wearing the same clothes as the previous evening.
“Morning. Have you been here all night?” she asked, keeping her tone light.
The weary look he gave her said it all. He rubbed his eyes and said, “I got a couple of hours’ sleep.”
There was a small windowless room with a narrow bed, a hard pillow, and a cotton blanket for the occasional use of staff, but it wasn’t conducive to a good sleep.
“Have you had breakfast?”
“No. The place I’ve been has kind of taken away my appetite,” he replied cryptically.
Embla didn’t bother asking what he meant; an emergency intervention was needed here. It was eight o’clock and Göran hadn’t had breakfast. She headed for the canteen and bought a cup of herbal tea, a large coffee with two sugars, and two ham and cheese sandwiches. The tea was hers, the rest was for him.
When she put the tray down on his desk, he managed a wan smile. He thanked her and dug in.
Embla sipped her tea and waited for him to finish. As he pushed his plate away, she asked, “So where’s this place that took away your appetite?”
He grimaced. “The dark net.”
“But we haven’t found any of the brothers’ cell phones or laptops. Or iPads, if they had any,” she objected.
“No, but I took a look around anyway. I found a few leads, but the problem is that everything is in Croatian, and I’m sure it’s encrypted as well. There are chat rooms in English, but it’s hard to know if I’m on the right track. I really need their laptops!”
Once again he rubbed his bloodshot eyes, then he sighed and looked at her.
“I spoke to Tommy Persson a l
ittle while ago. He and I both agree that it would be better if someone who isn’t too close to Louise Lindqvist conducts any future interviews with her. Irene Huss and Fredrik Stridh will be talking to her from now on; they’ll be contacting her today.”
Her first reaction was disappointment, but then she realized that Tommy and Göran were right. It was best if someone who could remain objective took over.
She spent the rest of the morning in her own department, Violent Crimes, for once. She went through the interviews with Jiri Acika, which didn’t take very long, as he hadn’t said a word. There were, however, a couple of longer interviews with his brother, Andreas, that proved interesting.
According to Andreas, he’d had no idea that Jiri was in Gothenburg. Nor had he known where Milo was going on that Friday; Milo had simply said that he’d be away for the weekend.
Needless to say, Andreas had a watertight alibi for the Friday evening. Between six and eleven he’d been with around a hundred people at the opening of a new bar in town. It was actually Milo who’d been invited, but he’d asked Andreas to go in his place. Kristina hadn’t been well enough to accompany him, due to pelvic pain in the late stages of her pregnancy.
Embla pictured the good-looking man who’d spoken to her and Göran in his compact study. He’d taken off his tailored jacket to reveal his equally tailored shirt, which had fit his muscular upper body like a glove. The big gold watch had glinted on his wrist. Was he a father of three by now? The apartment was in a fashionable building, but maybe it was a little small for his growing family. Did Mr. Fitness want to break free, in more ways than one? Become his own boss? Buy a house? Or maybe just move up to the penthouse?
Could he have been involved in the murders? Been bribed by the rival gang in Zagreb? In which case he would have known that Jiri was in Sweden when the brothers were killed. Embla wasn’t convinced that Milo hadn’t told him where he was going; maybe Milo had said he was treating himself to a night at the guesthouse in Herremark. Given the state of the accommodation at Ulvsjön, it wasn’t hard to see why a comfortable cottage was considerably more appealing. And then there was the excellent restaurant, of course.
It would explain a great deal if it transpired that Andreas was involved in the deaths of the Stavic brothers, not least the feeling both she and Göran shared: that the murders were well planned, and that the killer or killers had known exactly where the victims were.
Andreas Acika was across everything when it came to the brothers’ business affairs and private lives. He knew all three of them well, knew their habits and vices.
Unfortunately there wasn’t a shred of incriminating evidence against him. Only a cop’s gut instinct, as Irene Huss would say.
Embla gathered up the printouts of the interviews with Andreas, put them in a folder, and headed back to Göran’s office.
He didn’t interrupt her once; he merely nodded in agreement a couple of times. The bags under his eyes bore witness to the lack of sleep, but he began to brighten up as Embla expounded on her theory.
“Andreas could well have been involved,” he said when she’d finished. “I don’t mean he was actually holding the gun, but he could have passed on information.”
“Do we have anything at all that points to him?” she asked hopefully.
He sighed and shook his head. “No. But when we got a warrant to open Milo’s safe, it was suspiciously clean. Eleven thousand kronor in cash. No drugs, no guns, no compromising documents. There were contracts, share certificates—exactly what you’d expect of a serious businessman.”
“Someone got there before us.”
“Looks that way. And who would have the code to Milo’s safe if not his right-hand man?”
They both fell silent, thinking things over.
“We need evidence of contact between Andreas and the gang in Zagreb,” Göran said eventually.
“What do you know about them?”
He didn’t even try to hide an enormous yawn.
“Not much. The boss is named Mikael Vlasic. He’s fifty-two and notorious for his brutality. He was an officer during the Balkan Wars in the nineties, but he’d already started building up his business before that. He has adult twin sons who also work within the organization, which is a mirror image of the Stavic brothers’ criminal activities, hence the rivalry. It’s understandable that Vlasic thinks it would be a good idea to take over the Stavic brothers’ flourishing empire. No doubt he sees his boys running a highly lucrative network in the future.”
Embla considered how they could gather more information about Vlasic’s gang and try to find a possible link to Andreas Acika.
“So Vlasic must have someone who can run things here in Gothenburg,” she said.
“Definitely.”
“And who better than Andreas Acika?”
One corner of Göran’s mouth twitched in a faint smile. “No one.”
“Could the contact we’re looking for be between Jiri Acika and Mikael Vlasic?”
Göran raised his eyebrows. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
He leafed through the printouts of the interviews with Andreas, then triumphantly held up a sheet of paper. “That’s it! This is the only information we have about Jiri’s life in Split over the past five years. According to Andreas, he’s married with a three-year-old daughter. And he doesn’t work for Kador, but for a relative. Their mother’s older brother. Time to contact Boris Cetinski again, I think. But not on Skype,” he added with a weary smile. “I haven’t got the energy to smarten myself up today.”
Embla had a quiet afternoon. She’d arranged to leave at four o’clock—on the dot. She was going straight from work to meet Olle. Her bag was already packed and in the trunk of her car. Her heart flipped when she thought of him. Over the past few days they’d spent hours talking on the phone, and she felt they’d been able to open up to each other in a way that was very rare for her. He was funny and easygoing, but he was also capable of discussing difficult issues, like the events up at Ulvsjön. At the same time she could tell he was also interested in her because he was flirtatious—without going too far. And she was definitely interested in him! She couldn’t wait to see the best-looking cop in Dalsland again.
The sun was shining in, even though the windows were grubby from the long winter, and it was just possible to see the first green shoots coming up in the flower beds in the park. March had arrived, and maybe everyone could start looking forward to the spring. There was a while to go yet, though. In the meantime, perhaps something was beginning to grow between her and Olle.
Her romantic thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone. Göran, asking her to come back to his office. She glanced at the clock: two-thirty. Only an hour and a half to go. She smiled and ran down the stairs, her footsteps as light as air.
He looked like an exhausted giant panda and smelled like a man who hadn’t showered or changed his shirt in almost forty-eight hours, but his eyes were alert and he was smiling.
“Boris Cetinski is a diamond. He already had most of the information I was asking for, and what he told me is sensational!” he exclaimed. He leaned back in his chair with a triumphant expression. “Jiri Acika is married to a woman named Gabriela, and as we know they have a three-year-old daughter. Gabriela’s maiden name was Pavic, but her mother’s maiden name was Vlasic—in fact, her mother is Mikael Vlasic’s sister! So Jiri’s wife is the niece of the gang leader.”
A crystal-clear link to the Stavic brothers’ rivals in Zagreb. Embla felt her pulse increase.
“That could give us an opening with Jiri. It might even help us find some evidence of contact between Andreas and Vlasic,” she said.
Göran’s face split into a broad grin, which made him look like a contented bulldog. “We already have that evidence. The link is Andreas’s wife—what was her name again?” He leafed through the papers in front of him. Embla had just gone
over the interviews with Andreas, so she knew the answer.
“Kristina.”
“That’s it, thank you. Now listen to this”—he started tapping his index finger on the desk, emphasizing every word he said—“Jiri’s wife, Gabriela, and Andreas’s wife, Kristina, are sisters!”
“Wow!”
It wasn’t the best response, but she was so surprised she couldn’t think of anything sensible to say. Göran didn’t seem to mind. “So Kristina’s maiden name was Pavic,” he continued. “The Acika brothers each married a sister, and Mikael Vlasic is their uncle.”
“Do you think Milo knew that?”
“He did.”
“And surely Kador must have known that the Pavic sisters were related to the gangster in Zagreb.”
“He did. Just like Milo. According to Boris Cetinski, it seems to have been Mikael Vlasic and Milo Stavic who arranged the marriages between their nieces and the Acika brothers. It’s been six years since Andreas and Kristina got married. Apparently the two gang leaders were good friends back then, and the marriages were presumably supposed to cement the peaceful relationship between the gangs—and provide the opportunity for both men to expand their activities.”
The chair protested as he leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head, then stretched both straight out in front of him and yawned. Presumably that was his exercise for the day.
“Jiri and Gabriela got married as soon as he got out of jail—that was five years ago. But then Milo and Mikael had a big falling-out. They were two roosters who both wanted the spot on top of the dung heap; it was never going to work in the long run. There were a lot of violent incidents down in Croatia, but the only thing that came to our attention was the shooting of Luca and his friend the doorman—and the professional hit man we fished out of the river.”
“But nothing happened after that,” Embla pointed out.
“Not in Gothenburg, but according to Boris Cetinski, there was plenty going on in Zagreb and Split, culminating in Kador’s disappearance. It’s not surprising that Kador and Milo had everything in place to get Louise and the children to safety at a moment’s notice.”
Snowdrift Page 29
