“He must have contacted Gothia MC straight after he’d spoken to you. And they must have had the killers waiting outside the hospital. Or nearby, at least,” Irene said.
“Nearby is more likely; we have two witnesses who saw a white Volvo C30 in Torpa, which is only a few minutes from the hospital. And the CCTV cameras in the hospital parking lot picked up the car, but unfortunately they didn’t capture the men as they got out; the intervals between the pictures are too long. But we did get them when they returned to the car—only their back view, but the license plate is clear. It’s the car that was stolen in Partille a few hours earlier.”
“It hasn’t been found?”
Tommy shook his head. They’d probably driven it to an isolated spot and torched it, Irene thought. That was still the most common way to dispose of a stolen car, although some perps sprayed the interior with a fire extinguisher instead, which was guaranteed to destroy DNA. The drawback was that they needed access to a foam extinguisher; fire was easier, and Irene suspected they would soon receive a report about a burned-out Volvo C30.
“Have you checked outgoing calls from the station? Bratt must have called as soon as you put down the phone,” she said.
“I asked Hannu to check it out this morning. A text was sent at 5:37 from a cell phone inside the building, but it can’t be traced.”
“That’s exactly what I’d expect of our informant. No evidence.”
There was a brief silence, then Irene continued. “So the killers set off right away and parked close to the main doors. Then they joined the stream of visitors entering the hospital. They knew we didn’t have a guard outside Kazan’s room.”
“Because Stefan had told them,” Tommy added gloomily.
Something occurred to Irene. “By the way, did Hannu mention anything else in relation to the case?”
“No, he just came in and told me about the text message at around six o’clock. I didn’t see him again before I left.”
“Hmm. I asked him to look into a couple of things before I went over to Kazan’s house yesterday. He called me a little while ago; we’re meeting at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. He wouldn’t tell me what he’d found out; I got the impression he was still waiting for confirmation.”
Tommy’s face brightened a little. “That guy is like a bulldog; he never lets go. If he thinks he has a lead, he won’t give up. He didn’t give you any indication at all?”
“Nope.”
“Typical Hannu,” Tommy said with a wan smile.
The barrel of the gun was being pressed into the back of her neck, harder and harder. Sinews and cartilage began to break down; soon the pain would be too much. She looked down at Kazan’s ashen face, his terrified eyes wide open. He was pushing back into the pillow in a desperate attempt to escape. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. The agony in her neck was unbearable now. She knew that the gun would be fired at any second; she could see it in Kazan’s eyes. He knew that death was approaching. The shot came as an explosion of deep red and dazzling white, but it wasn’t the head on the pillow that had been blown to pieces, it was her own.
Irene woke up with her heart pounding, and stared into the darkness. The aftermath of the nightmare lingered on, not least because of the pain; she was lying on her back, and the pillow was pressing on the lump. Tommy had given her a tube of painkiller gel that one of his kids had left in the bathroom cabinet. She sat up with a groan, found it amid the mess on the bedside table and applied a generous amount. It was almost three-thirty, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. She settled down on her side and waited for dawn. But she might have fallen into a doze after all; she had a vague memory of seeing Stefan Bratt’s face just before the alarm on her cell phone went off.
One look at Tommy told Irene that she wasn’t the only one who had slept badly. This is a bit much for all of us, she thought. Including me. Her family slipped into her mind, but she immediately pushed them away. There was a risk that she would lose her ability to act decisively if she allowed herself to dwell on the danger they were in, but it was there at the back of her mind, chafing at her consciousness. How could they get back to their normal lives? It seemed hopeless right now; the gangs were fighting to increase their strength and control. So many of us are in their power, Irene mused. The number of victims of extortion, drugs, human trafficking, abuse and murder was growing all the time, not to mention the families of those victims. As long as people were prepared to pay for what the gangs could supply, their sphere of influence would continue to spread. Wherever there was easy money, that’s where the gangs could be found. Given the inexhaustible desire for cheap labor, sex and drugs, it seemed like a hopeless situation.
“You look terrible,” Tommy said.
“You don’t exactly look like a dew-kissed rose yourself.”
“Ouch. I’ve made the coffee extra strong . . .”
“You know how to please a woman,” Irene joked in an attempt to make up for snapping at him.
“I’ve never had any complaints,” he replied with a smile.
It hadn’t occurred to her before, but she suddenly realized how charming he could be when it suited him. She had never even considered it during all the years they had known each other, but now she could see that he was an attractive man. Okay, so his hair was thinning and his midriff was thickening, but on the whole he was in pretty good shape. Those sparkling brown eyes and that smile could melt a iceberg in no time. In spite of that, he hadn’t seemed interested in actively looking for a new partner after Efva Thylqvist. Irene assumed his self-esteem had suffered a severe blow and would take a while to be built up again. The betrayal had been too great.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
Irene gave a start, feeling caught out. “I’m just wondering what Hannu’s come up with,” she improvised quickly. Tommy seemed to swallow the lie.
“Yes, it will be interesting to hear what he has to say.” He picked up the daily paper and laid out the different sections on the table. “What do you want first? Culture?”
“Sports,” Irene said as she pulled it toward her. My God, we sound like an old married couple, she thought. Then again, she never read the culture pages. They ate their breakfast in silence as they skimmed the latest stories.
Irene walked into Hannu Rauhala’s office at precisely seven-thirty. He was already there, as expected, with two mugs of coffee waiting on the table. He tried asking how she was feeling, but she made light of her aches and pains and started questioning him instead. He held up his hands to stop her.
“Let me start from the beginning. With several homicide inquiries going on at the same time, things are a little chaotic around here, which is why it took a while to get the confirmation I was waiting for.”
He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee. Irene knew it was horribly sweet, but that was the way he liked it. As far as she was aware, that was his only character defect.
“Patrik Karlsson was born in Trollhättan. He was very much the baby of the family; his brothers were twenty and eighteen when he was born, and his sister was thirteen. The parents had problems with alcohol, and his sister was like a mother to him. His parents divorced; Patrik moved with his mom to Vänersborg, where she met a new man, and the three of them then came to live in Göteborg. This new guy was also a drinker. Nobody was keeping an eye on Patrik, and he soon became a member of the Desperados. His biological father died of a stroke when Patrik was fourteen, and Patrik’s brothers took over his car repair workshop.”
Hannu paused to catch his breath and to have another sip of coffee. Irene was amazed. She had never heard so many consecutive sentences come out of his mouth, and they had been working together for almost twelve years.
“The new guy took off, leaving Patrik alone with his mother. She was a physical and mental wreck, constantly in and out of the psychiatric unit. His
sister tried to help, but Patrik was a delinquent teenager who was determined to go his own way. However, they kept in touch and seemed pretty close.”
Hannu fell silent again, then took a deep breath before delivering the killer blow.
“Patrik’s sister, Ann, became a police officer. After a few years she married a colleague called Wennberg. They divorced twelve months later, but she kept the surname.”
Irene stared at him, completely lost for words. Was this really true? “Ann Wennberg was Patrik Karlsson’s sister?”
Hannu nodded. “There’s no doubt. They’re siblings. The brothers took over their father’s business, and Ann became a cop. They all share an interest in motorbikes.”
“Right,” was the best Irene could come up with.
She was utterly flattened by the news, and it turned yesterday’s theory about who the informant might be on its head. It had to be Ann Wennberg, but Stefan Bratt had told Tommy that he was alone when he was given the details about Kazan’s location in the hospital. So what did that mean?
“What do you know about Stefan Bratt?”
Hannu didn’t seem in the least surprised at the change of subject. “Forty-four years old, divorced, no kids. Stellar career path. He’s a lone wolf, but allegedly one of the good guys,” he said calmly.
Irene merely nodded in response. Her head was spinning. She had to speak to Tommy before morning prayer.
Irene found her boss in his office, twisting his new chair from side to side and staring at the computer screen. His gaze was unfocused, however, and she knew he was thinking about something else entirely.
She didn’t waste any time. “Have you spoken to Bratt?”
“He’ll be here in a minute,” he replied without even looking up.
“Good. He’s not the informant.”
“What?” She definitely had Tommy’s full attention now.
“Hannu’s on his way to tell us what he’s found out.”
“But who—”
Tommy broke off as Stefan Bratt walked in carrying his cell phone. He glanced at the screen, then turned it off. He too bore the signs of the heavy workload they were all carrying. There were dark circles under his eyes, and lines of fatigue around his mouth. The fine blond hair wasn’t quite as carefully arranged over his bald patch as it had been at the beginning of their association, but he was impeccably dressed as always in chinos, a pale blue shirt and a beige linen blazer.
“Morning, morning,” he said, nodding to Irene and Tommy.
“Morning,” Tommy said, still looking totally confused. Much to his relief, Hannu appeared in the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt. Tommy, I thought you said you wanted to speak to me privately before the briefing?” Stefan was trying to sound polite, even though he had no idea what Irene and Hannu were doing there.
“I did, but things have taken an unexpected turn.”
Tommy asked his colleague to sit down: Stefan Bratt perched on a chair, his expression wary. He was still holding his cell phone. Tommy nodded to Hannu, who began to speak with his usual calm demeanor. As he talked Stefan grew paler and paler, although he didn’t move; he hardly even blinked.
By the time Hannu had finished, Stefan looked like a ghost. It was just as well he was sitting down, or he would have keeled over. The blue eyes had narrowed to slits, and his mouth was a thin line.
“Did you know about any of this?” Tommy asked him tentatively.
At first Stefan didn’t appear to have heard the question, but after a few seconds his lips moved.
“No. I didn’t know she and Patrik were siblings. I didn’t even realize they knew each other.”
“Did it ever cross you mind that Ann could be the leak?”
“Never . . .” His voice broke and he fell silent.
“You told me you were alone when I gave you the details about Kazan’s hospital room. Was that true?” Tommy went on.
Stefan shook his head slowly and let out a deep sigh. He swallowed several times before he straightened his back and spoke. “Yes and no. When I called to ask you about the drugs that had been found at Kazan’s house, I was alone in my office. But while we were talking Ann came in with some files. She heard part of the conversation, and could well have seen what I’d jotted down on my notepad on the desk: Kazan’s name, the ward he was on, and his room number.”
His face was expressionless. The only sign of agitation was the movement of his slender fingers, constantly playing with his cell phone. After a moment he went on resolutely.
“She put the files on my desk and signaled that she would come back later, then she left. I saw her through the glass wall, heading for the bathroom. That must have been when . . . when she contacted them.”
His voice let him down again.
“So you think she could have seen the notepad when she came over to your desk?” Irene asked.
“Yes.”
“Does Ann know we’re going to discuss our strategy for the gang leaders’ meeting at Pravda tomorrow?” Tommy asked.
Stefan shook his head once more. “No, I haven’t had time to tell anyone what Kazan said to Irene. She’s in her office at the moment,” he added.
“In that case we can limit the damage by removing her from the investigation right away,” Tommy said, getting to his feet.
It was obvious how relieved he was now that the leak had been exposed. Stefan Bratt’s face told a very different story. He seemed to be taking the fact that someone on his team had been supplying information to Gothia MC as a personal insult.
When morning prayer finally got under way, the two senior officers looked serious but composed. Ann Wennberg was not with them.
Tommy Persson smiled warmly as he addressed the team. “Sorry to keep you waiting; things just got a little complicated. Anyway, we’re here now; the plan is to outline our strategy for tomorrow.”
They clearly had no intention of revealing that the person responsible for the leaks had been tracked down; Irene wondered if that was a wise decision, given the speed with which rumors spread throughout the station.
Tommy began by talking about Kazan’s last words to Irene; a meeting between the leaders of two major rival gangs was of particular interest, and had to be monitored.
“Kazan mentioned a restaurant called Pravda, but it was closed by Environmental Health fifteen years ago. The place is falling down, and the whole block is due to be demolished in a few weeks. Meanwhile, there’s no one around,” Tommy went on.
“So how have the gangs gained access?” Jonny Blom wanted to know.
Stefan Bratt answered. “One of our guys checked it out yesterday. The building is owned by the same people who own the conference center out in Sävedalen: the Mara brothers and Christoffer von Hanke, the mafia lawyer. The Gangster Lions, in other words.”
Tommy took over again. “Exactly, and it’s the perfect place to meet because the area is deserted. The street is closed off, and traffic has been redirected via Åvägen. Which presents us with a problem: How do we keep the restaurant under surveillance? How do we get close without being seen? Plus we don’t know exactly what time the meeting is due to begin, so we need to be there from early in the morning until something happens.”
“What if there’s nothing going on? What if Kazan was just making it all up?” Jonny chipped in.
Irene took over.
“That’s possible, of course, but he was terrified when I told him we’d found the cocaine. He knew he was a dead man walking as far as both Gothia MC and the Gangster Lions were concerned. I believed him when he talked about this meeting.”
Tommy leaned forward and clicked on the laptop in front of him. A map of Gårda was projected onto the wall. He pointed out a number of locations where he wanted surveillance units stationed; some of the team would go over there straight after the meeting to work out the best approach. S
omeone suggested setting up a camera overnight, but there was a risk that the Gangster Lions had already installed their own camera, which meant they would be able to see any police activity. The warning lights would start flashing, and no one would turn up for the meeting. The idea was quickly discounted. Instead they agreed to park a surveillance truck in a strategic spot. The most important thing was to be able to listen in to the meeting so they could find out what the gang bosses were plotting. The truck was still a risk, but it was the best they could come up with.
“We need to split up into several groups; it’s essential that their lookouts don’t keep on seeing the same faces in the area. They might not have anyone posted today, but we have to assume they’ll be out in full strength tomorrow,” Tommy said.
He and Stefan divided those present into teams; they would work out a schedule shortly. Everyone was allocated a role apart from Irene. Tommy turned to her.
“I have a special task for you; I’ll see you in my office straight after the meeting.”
Irene was well aware that she couldn’t be sent out to Gårda with the others; plenty of the Gangster Lions’ members knew who she was after the night when Danny Mara was killed. Plus of course Gothia MC would no doubt recognize her by now; the two who had murdered Kazan had probably been bawled out for not shooting her at the hospital when they had the chance. Maybe they had been totally focused on the job of killing Kazan, and hadn’t realized who she was. She was unlikely to be so lucky next time she bumped into one of Gothia’s henchmen.
She went to Tommy’s office via the coffee machine. He was already at his desk; Irene put down a mug of coffee in front of him, and his face brightened as he thanked her. The smile reached all the way to his eyes, and he almost looked back to normal. The knowledge that they had a fifth columnist inside the walls of the police station had weighed heavily on his shoulders, and now that burden had been lifted he seemed to be filled with renewed energy. Which was good, but a little odd. They still had six homicides, if you included the double murder outside Varberg, two bomb attacks and a gang war to deal with. They were also facing a major operation with no idea what it would bring.
Protected by the Shadows Page 18
