‘This road must seem awfully familiar to you by now.’ He glanced in the direction of Torp as they once again headed for Göteborg.
‘Uh-huh.’
Gösta took the hint and leaned over to switch on the radio instead of trying to carry on a conversation with his colleague. An hour later, having listened to far too much pointless pop music, they finally reached the city.
‘When you spoke to him on the phone, did he sound as if he’d be willing to help us?’ asked Gösta. He knew from experience that cooperation between police districts often depended on the particular individual they happened to be dealing with. If they ended up with a surly type, it would be almost impossible to find out any information.
‘He sounded friendly,’ said Patrik as he led the way to the reception area. ‘Patrik Hedström and Gösta Flygare. We’re here to see Ulf Karlgren.’
‘That’s me,’ boomed a voice behind them, and a big man wearing a black leather jacket and cowboy boots stepped forward. ‘I was thinking we could sit in the cafeteria. My office is too cramped, and the coffee is better down here.’
‘Sure,’ said Patrik. He couldn’t help looking this unlikely police officer up and down. Regulation attire clearly held no appeal for Ulf Karlgren, and that became even more apparent when Patrik glimpsed the faded T-shirt the man was wearing under his jacket. It said AC/DC across the chest.
‘This way.’
Ulf took long strides as he headed for the cafeteria. Patrik and Gösta did their best to keep up. From behind they noticed that the man had a long ponytail that compensated for the thinning hair on top of his head. And they could clearly see the outline of a snuff container in his back pocket.
‘Hello, girls! You’re more beautiful today than ever.’ Ulf winked at the women behind the counter, and they giggled happily. ‘So what have you got to tempt me today? I need to watch my figure, you know!’ Ulf patted the stomach that was stretching his T-shirt tight, and Patrik found himself thinking about Mellberg. But that was as far as the similarities went. Ulf was a significantly more appealing type of person.
‘We’ll take a Princess pastry each,’ said Ulf, pointing to a tray of enormous pastries covered with green marzipan.
Patrik started to protest, but Ulf waved aside his objections.
‘You could use a bit of meat on those bones,’ he said, loading the pastries on to a tray. ‘And three cups of coffee. That will do it.’
‘You don’t need to …’ said Patrik as Ulf took a credit card out of his well-worn wallet.
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s my treat. Come on, let’s sit down.’
They followed him to a table and sat down. Ulf’s cheerful expression suddenly turned serious.
‘I hear that you’ve got some questions about one of the biker gangs.’
Patrik nodded. He briefly summarized what had happened and what they’d found out so far. Then he explained that a witness had seen Mats Sverin being assaulted by several guys who looked like bikers with eagles on their backs.
Ulf nodded. ‘That sounds credible. From your description, we could be talking about the IE.’
‘IE?’ Gösta had already finished off his pastry. Patrik couldn’t understand where his colleague put all the food that he ate. He was as gaunt as a greyhound.
‘Illegal Eagles.’ Ulf had dropped four sugar cubes in his cup and was slowly stirring his coffee. ‘They’re the number one gang in the area. Meaner, uglier, and more ruthless than all the others.’
‘Shit.’
‘If they’re the ones involved, I’d advise you to proceed cautiously. We’ve had some rather unfortunate confrontations with that gang.’
‘What are they mixed up in?’ asked Patrik.
‘Drugs, prostitution, protection rackets, extortion – you name it. It’d be easier to tell you what they’re not mixed up in.’
‘Cocaine?’
‘Definitely. But also heroin, amphetamines and, to a certain degree, anabolic steroids.’
‘Have you had a chance to check out whether Mats Sverin was ever part of any police investigations here?’ asked Patrik.
‘His name has never come up.’ Ulf shook his head. ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t involved, only that he never came to our attention.’
‘He doesn’t exactly fit the profile. As a gang member, I mean,’ said Gösta, leaning back with a sated look on his face.
‘The core group is made up of bikers, but there are all sorts of other types on the fringes, especially when it comes to narcotics. Some of our investigations have taken us right to the upper levels of society.’
‘Would it be possible to get in contact with this gang?’ Patrik downed the last of his coffee.
Ulf immediately got up to get him some more.
‘The second cup is free,’ he said when he came back and sat down. ‘As I was saying, I wouldn’t recommend making direct contact with these gentlemen. We’ve had a number of unpleasant experiences with them. So if you could start from some other angle, maybe talk to people connected to this guy Sverin, I’d advise you to do that instead.’
‘I understand,’ said Patrik. ‘Who’s the head of the IE?’
‘Stefan Ljungberg. A Nazi sympathizer who started the gang ten years ago. He’s been in the slammer countless times, ever since he was eighteen. Before that, he was in a locked juvenile facility. You know the type.’
Patrik nodded, though in truth it was a type he hadn’t really encountered before. The criminals back home seemed awfully tame by comparison.
‘What would make them come to Fjällbacka to put a bullet in somebody’s head?’ asked Gösta.
‘I can think of a number of likely scenarios. Trying to leave the gang is usually the best way to end up with a bullet in your skull. Although that doesn’t seem to be the case in this instance, so we have to consider other possibilities. Maybe they were cheated in a drug deal, maybe they were worried that somebody was going to talk. If so, maybe we should interpret the assault as a warning. But this is all pure speculation. I’ll ask my colleagues if they’ve heard anything more concrete. I’d also recommend that you talk to people who were close to Sverin. Often they know more than they think.’
Patrik was doubtful. This had proved the biggest problem in their investigation so far. No one seemed to know very much about Mats Sverin.
‘Thank you for your time,’ he said, getting up.
Ulf shook hands with Patrik and smiled.
‘No problem. We’re only too glad to be of help. Give me a shout if you have any other questions.’
‘I’m sure we will,’ said Patrik. There was so much that seemed logical about this particular lead. At the same time, it didn’t feel right. He simply couldn’t figure out this case. And he still had no idea who Mats really was. It was hard to get his head around the case when, over and over in his mind, Patrik kept hearing the shot from yesterday.
‘What shall we do now?’ Martin was standing in the doorway to Paula’s office.
‘I don’t know.’ She felt as discouraged as Martin looked.
The events of the previous day had taken a toll on all of them. No one had seen Mellberg. He’d locked himself in his office, and that was probably just as well. The way things stood at the moment, his colleagues would have had a hard time hiding their contempt. Fortunately for Paula, she hadn’t seen him at home either. By the time she got home last night, he had already gone to bed. And when she left this morning, he was still asleep. At breakfast Rita had tried to talk to Paula about what had happened, but she had let it be known that she was in no mood to discuss the matter. And Johanna hadn’t even tried to talk about it. She had simply turned away when Paula crawled into bed. The wall between them was getting higher. Paula felt her mouth go dry, as if from panic, at the thought. She had to take a sip of water from the glass on her desk. She didn’t have the energy to think about Johanna right now.
‘Isn’t there anything we can do while they’re in Göteborg?’ Martin came in and sat down.
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‘Lennart is supposed to get back to us today,’ said Paula. She hadn’t slept well, and no matter how much she sympathized with Martin’s impatience, she was too tired to take the initiative herself. But Martin continued to sit there, fixing her with an enquiring look.
‘Shall we phone Lennart to find out if he’s done yet?’ He took out his mobile.
‘No, no. He’ll call as soon as he’s finished looking at the documents. I’m sure he will.’
‘Okay.’ Martin put his mobile back in his pocket. ‘So what shall we do while we wait? Patrik didn’t leave any instructions. We can’t just sit here doing nothing, can we?’
‘I don’t know.’ Paula could feel herself growing annoyed. Why was she the one who was supposed to decide? She wasn’t much older than Martin and, besides, he’d been working at the station several years longer than she had, although she did have experience on the Stockholm police force. She took a deep breath. It wasn’t fair to take out her frustration on Martin.
‘Pedersen is supposed to deliver his report from the post-mortem today. I think we should start with that. I can ring him and find out if he has any results for us.’
‘Okay. Then maybe we’ll have something to work with.’ Martin looked like a happy puppy who had just received a pat on the head, and Paula couldn’t help smiling. It was impossible to stay annoyed with Martin for very long.
‘I’ll phone him now.’
Martin watched as she tapped in the number. Pedersen must have been sitting next to his phone, because he picked up on the first ring.
‘Hi. This is Paula Morales in Tanumshede … You have it? Oh, good.’ She gave Martin a thumbs up. ‘Of course. Just fax over the report. But could you give me a brief summary over the phone?’ She nodded and made a few notes on the pad of paper on her desk.
Martin craned his neck, trying to read what she’d written, but then gave up.
‘Hmm … I see … Okay.’ She listened some more and made a few more notes. Then she slowly put down the phone. Martin stared at her.
‘What did he say? Anything we can use?’
‘Not exactly. Mostly he just confirmed what we already knew.’ She looked down at her notes. ‘He said that Mats Sverin was shot in the back of the head with a nine-millimetre gun. One shot. He probably died instantly.’
‘What about the time of death?’
‘That was the good news. He was able to determine that Mats died sometime after midnight, meaning in the early hours of Saturday morning.’
‘That’s good. What else?’
‘There was no trace of any narcotic substances in his blood.’
‘Nothing?’
Paula shook her head. ‘No. Not even nicotine.’
‘He could still have been a dealer.’
‘True. But it does make you wonder …’ She looked at her notes again. ‘The most interesting part is going to be seeing whether the bullet matches any gun that we have on record. If there’s a link to some other crime, it will make it much easier to find the weapon. And hopefully the murderer.’
Suddenly Annika was standing in the doorway.
‘The Coast Guard just called. They found the boat.’
Paula and Martin exchanged glances. They didn’t need to ask Annika which boat she was talking about.
Everything was packed. The instant Madeleine received the postcard, she knew what she had to do. There was no longer any use trying to flee. She was aware of the danger that awaited them, but it was just as dangerous to stay here. Maybe she and her children would have a better chance if they went back voluntarily.
Madeleine had to sit down on the suitcase to close it. One suitcase was all she’d been able to bring. She’d had to pack an entire lifetime into it. And yet she’d been filled with hope as she boarded the train for Copenhagen with the children and that one suitcase. She had felt pain and sorrow about what she was leaving behind, but happiness about what might be ahead.
She glanced around the small one-room flat. A dreary place with only one bed where the kids had slept and a mattress on the floor for her. The flat didn’t look like much, but for a brief time it had been paradise. A safe place that was all their own. Until it had been transformed into a trap. They couldn’t stay here. Mette had lent her money for the tickets without asking any questions. Maybe she had bought them a death sentence, but what choice did she have?
Slowly she got to her feet, picked up the postcard, and stuffed it in her worn purse. She wanted to rip it into a thousand pieces and flush them down the toilet, watching them disappear. But she knew that she needed to keep the card as a reminder. So she wouldn’t change her mind.
The children were at Mette’s. They had gone over there after playing in the courtyard, and Madeleine was grateful to have a little more time to herself before she had to break the news that they were going home. That word did not have a positive meaning for them. Scars, both internal and external, were the only things they had ever received from their so-called ‘home’. She hoped they knew that she loved them, that she would never willingly do anything to harm them, but that she had no other option. If they were found here, trapped in this rabbit hole, none of them would be spared. She knew that for a fact. The only chance the rabbits had was to go back to the fox of their own free will.
It was time to leave. She could no longer put off the inevitable. Telling herself that the children would understand, Madeleine picked up the suitcase. She only wished that she really believed that.
‘I heard about Gunnar,’ said Anna.
She still looked like a fragile little bird, and Erica did her best to smile. ‘Don’t think about things like that right now. You have enough on your mind.’
Anna frowned. ‘I don’t know. Strangely enough, it’s good to feel sorry for someone other than myself.’
‘And it must be awful for Signe. She’s all alone now.’
‘How is Patrik doing?’ Anna tucked her legs under her as she sat on the sofa. The children were in school and the day-care centre, and the twins were taking their mid-morning nap in the pram just outside the front door.
‘He was pretty upset yesterday,’ said Erica, reaching for a cinnamon bun.
Belinda, Dan’s eldest daughter, had baked the buns. She had started baking when she had a boyfriend who liked the domestic type. He was now history, but she still enjoyed baking, and she certainly seemed to have a natural talent for it.
‘God, this is delicious.’ Erica rolled her eyes.
‘I know. Belinda is a great baker. And Dan says that she’s been wonderful with the other kids.’
‘Yes, she stepped in when she was really needed.’
Belinda looked quite fierce with her dyed black hair, black fingernail polish, and heavy make-up. But when Anna retreated from everyone, she had taken her younger siblings under her wing, including Adrian and Emma.
‘What happened wasn’t Patrik’s fault,’ said Anna.
‘No, I know that. And I tried to tell him that. It’s really Mellberg who should be blamed, but for some reason Patrik always feels responsible. He and Gösta were at Gunnar’s house when he shot himself. Patrik thinks that he should have seen the warning signs and tried to stop him.’
‘What warning signs?’ snorted Anna. ‘Nobody announces in advance that they’re planning to kill themselves. There were several times when I …’ She came to a halt and glanced at Erica.
‘You would never do anything like that, Anna.’ Erica leaned closer and looked her sister in the eye. ‘You’ve been through so much, more than most people, and if you were going to kill yourself, you would have done it long ago. You don’t have it in you.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I know because you haven’t gone down in the basement to stick a gun in your mouth and pull the trigger.’
‘We don’t have any guns,’ said Anna.
‘Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean. You’ve never thrown yourself in front of a car or slit your wrists or taken a load of sleeping pills or
anything like that. You’ve never done any of those things because you’re such a strong person.’
‘I’m not sure it’s strength,’ murmured Anna. ‘I think it would take a lot of courage to pull that trigger.’
‘Not really. It only requires a moment of courage. After that, it’s all over, and everybody else has to clean up the mess, if you’ll pardon the expression. In my opinion, that’s not courage. That’s cowardice. Gunnar wasn’t thinking about Signe at that moment. If he had, he wouldn’t have done it. He would have shown more courage by staying with her, so they could help each other. Anything rather than choosing the coward’s way out. And that’s something you have never chosen.’
‘Well, according to that woman there, you can solve all your problems by doing yoga, not eating meat, and taking five deep breaths a day.’ Anna was pointing at the TV where an enthusiastic health guru was expounding on the only way to happiness and good health.
‘How can anyone find happiness without meat?’ asked Erica.
Anna couldn’t help laughing.
‘You’re such an idiot,’ she said, giving Erica a poke with her elbow.
‘You can talk! You’re the one who looks like a patient just released from the loony bin.’
‘That’s so mean.’ Anna threw a pillow at Erica with all her might.
‘Whatever it takes to get you to laugh,’ said Erica quietly.
‘I suppose it was only a matter of time,’ said Petra Janssen. Bile was threatening to rise in her throat, but as the mother of five children, she had developed a greater tolerance for disgusting smells over the years.
‘Yes, it’s no big surprise.’ Konrad Spetz, Petra’s long-term partner, seemed to be having more trouble quelling the nausea he felt.
‘The narcotics guys will probably be here any minute.’
They left the bedroom. The stench followed them, but in the living room on the floor below, it was easier to breathe. A woman in her fifties was sitting on a chair, sobbing as one of their younger colleagues tried to comfort her.
‘Was she the one who found him?’ Petra nodded towards the woman.
‘Yes. She’s the cleaning woman for the Westers. She usually comes in to clean once a week, but since they were away, she only needed to come in every other week. When she arrived today, she found … well …’ Konrad cleared his throat.
Patrick Hedstrom 07: The Lost Boy Page 32
