“When can I visit?”
“Tomorrow, once the doctors have done their rounds. After ten o’clock.”
When Irene had thanked the friendly nurse and ended the call, she was overwhelmed by a feeling of weakness. Not this as well! I can’t cope! she thought. Which didn’t really help.
The phone rang again, and she quickly grabbed the receiver and answered.
“Hi, honey! I hope you’re missing me as much as I’m missing you,” Krister’s soft voice said, and he really sounded like he meant it.
“Yes … I … yes,” was all Irene could manage.
To her horror she burst into tears. Soon she was weeping helplessly. Everything that had happened during the weekend had caught up with her, and she couldn’t stop. Krister tried to console her, but she had to put the phone down. She sobbed her way into the kitchen and tore off a length of paper towel. She wiped her face and blew her nose.
Feeling a little calmer, she went back to the phone. It was the longest telephone conversation they had ever had in the twenty-two years they had been together. Irene talked nonstop, getting the events of the last two days off her chest. When she eventually paused to catch her breath, Krister quietly asked if it was all really true, and not some American gangster movie that had been shown on the plane. He meant it as a joke, but she almost started crying again.
Afterward she felt completely exhausted, but at the same time she was considerably calmer. She fell into bed just before midnight.
She didn’t wake up until the alarm went off; she discovered she had spent the night in her robe. Presumably she had felt the need to be wrapped in something that reminded her of a safe embrace.
Chapter 20
“MORNING! YOU’VE GONE a bit overboard with the sunbathing!” Jonny greeted her with a grin.
Irene didn’t even have the strength to reply; she merely glared wearily at him.
“Oh, come on! We taxpayers foot the bill for your weekend in the sun, and you walk in and give me a dirty look!”
Irene stopped dead in front of him in the corridor. Without taking her eyes off him she began to remove her clothes. First of all she took off her jacket, then the thin cotton polo neck. Eventually she was standing there in nothing but her bra and camisole. She pointed to the white dressing which contrasted sharply with her red, sunburnt shoulder.
“This is a bullet wound from a Smith and Wesson 357 Magnum. I was lucky to survive. One other person made it, but he’s seriously injured. The other four people who were in the room with us are all dead. And the Spaniards are paying for the whole trip. Not one öre is coming from the Swedish police authority or from taxpayers in any other way.”
The truth was that she couldn’t remember the exact make and caliber of the gun the killer had used, but a Magnum sounded good. And she had no intention of telling Jonny that she had been hit by a ricochet. To her annoyance she realized that her voice was unsteady as she delivered her dramatic riposte. Jonny didn’t notice; he was too busy staring at the dressing with grudging fascination. When Irene saw his eyes start to move toward her décolletage, she slipped her poloneck back on. At least her unexpected outburst had shut him up for a while.
When she turned around to head for the coffee machine, she found herself face-to-face with the chief.
“What are you two up to?” the superintendent said, sounding extremely confused.
“Irene was just showing me the fantastic tan she got in Tenerife. She’s been sunbathing topless,” Jonny replied before Irene had the chance to speak.
He had recovered remarkably quickly after her performance.
“I was actually showing him my bullet wound,” she said with an air of assumed nonchalance as she skirted the superintendent before he had time to block her retreat.
Behind her back she could hear him yelping. “Topless? Bullet wound? What the hell is going on here?”
“If you go into the meeting room I’ll be along shortly, and I’ll explain everything,” Irene said without turning around.
IRENE HAD HAD the foresight to bring home a copy of the newspaper with MASACRE! in thick black letters on the front page. She used it as her starting point when she began to report back on the dramatic events of the weekend. She spoke for over an hour without being interrupted once.
In conclusion, she said, “As far as I can make out, this gang war is about far more than the fact that the transportation of two girls from Sweden to Tenerife went wrong. The girls can always be replaced, but there’s a lot of money involved in human trafficking. A source within the local police also told me there are drugs in the mix. ‘Obviously,’ I almost said. After all, drugs are the basis of all organized crime these days.”
Andersson gazed thoughtfully at Irene. Eventually he said, “Okay. So we sent you down there at the Spaniards’ request. By the time you left Tenerife, the body count in the case had risen by one hundred percent. Instead of four homicides, they now have eight. I suspect that wasn’t exactly what they were hoping for.” He frowned and went on. “My question is: What did they actually want from us? And did we find out anything useful as far as our investigation into the murder of the little Russian goes?”
Irene felt quite upset that Andersson was making it sound as if it was her fault that another four people had been shot dead. She decided to ignore his sarcastic summary of her visit and answered his question with apparent unconcern. “They found proof that Sergei Petrov hadn’t disappeared with Tanya. It was important for Jesus Gomez’s gang to be able to prove that Petrov hadn’t killed her, and it was vital for one of our colleagues within the Policía Nacional to be able to show that the Gomez gang couldn’t be blamed for Tanya’s death. This has nothing to do with concern for the girl’s well-being; she was worth a lot of money. Gomez is in debt to Saar, and Tanya was supposed to pay off part of that debt. Lembit Saar has no scruples when it comes to exploiting these girls. He was just angry because Tanya went missing. All the cash she would have made in the back rooms of the sex club would have gone straight into Lembit Saar’s pocket. And now that wasn’t going to happen.”
“And what did we get out of it?” Andersson persisted.
“We know that Tanya and Leili were due to be taken to Tenerife. We know where they were going to be kept when they reached the island. We also know that neither of them had a passport of their own. Both were going to be smuggled out of Sweden by Sergei Petrov. The little Russian was found dead late on Tuesday night. The Swedish press didn’t get the news until Wednesday. The interesting thing is that Petrov flew out of Tenerife early on the following Thursday as Andres Tamm, so it seems like the human traffickers over there didn’t know that Tanya was no longer with Becker. The question is whether Heinz Becker and Sergei Petrov knew even on Friday that Tanya was dead. Neither of them could read a Swedish newspaper or understand a Swedish news broadcast. And the overseas media were hardly likely to carry the story of an unknown young girl found dead in Göteborg.”
“How was Petrov intending to get the girls to Tenerife?” Andersson asked.
“He was booked on a late flight from Kastrup the following day, that Friday, together with Anne and Leili Tamm. We can assume that he brought his own passport and the girls’ fake passports with him. We’ve found Andres and Leili Tamm’s passports, but not Anne’s. It’s highly likely that Anne is Tanya, our little Russian,” Irene said.
“And that’s not her real name either,” Andersson sighed.
“No. And I don’t suppose Leili is called Leili. Has she regained consciousness, by the way?” Irene directed the question to Tommy, who shook his head.
“I called just before the meeting. Her condition has deteriorated,” he informed the team.
“That’s strange. Irene hasn’t been anywhere near her,” Jonny said.
He is definitely in top form this grey Monday morning, Irene thought.
“In that case perhaps I could get an update on what’s been happening on the home front,” she said.
“Sure. Shoot!” Fred
rik said cheerfully.
“Did you manage to track down Anders Pettersson?” she asked.
“I did. He’s safely under lock and key.”
“Has he said anything?”
“Not a word. I picked him up on Friday night. He was lying flat on the floor in a pub on Linnégatan; all I had to do was scoop him up. I tried to talk to him twice over the weekend, but he refused to say anything. I’ll have another go this afternoon.”
Fredrik sounded optimistic, but Irene knew Pettersson was a hard nut to crack. Perhaps a little female cunning was needed in order to pierce his shell.
“I’d like to sit in, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” He nodded.
“And I saw in the paper that Billy and Niklas have been found. Have you questioned them yet?” she asked Jonny.
“No. I thought the little bastards could sit and sweat for a while longer,” he said.
The truth is you couldn’t be bothered to come in and interview them over the weekend, Irene thought.
“Tommy and I are going to speak to them as soon as we’re done here,” Jonny added, glancing over at Andersson.
The superintendent’s face brightened and he nodded approvingly. He looked at Irene over the top of his reading glasses, his eyes twinkling. “You’ve got a busy morning writing a report on all your adventures down south. And this afternoon you’re in with Fredrik, questioning Pettersson. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: give him hell! He’s up to his ears in this whole goddamn mess!”
The last comment was delivered with grim determination. Irene agreed with him on every point, apart from the first one.
“I can’t write my report today. I have to go to the hospital.”
Andersson opened his mouth and looked as if he were about to object, but when he met Irene’s gaze he immediately closed it again.
“Stay away from that place! They’re bound to amputate your arm. That’s a serious injury you’ve got there! It must be so painful,” Jonny said spitefully.
“The only thing that hurts is your jokes,” Irene snapped.
She hurried out of the room so she wouldn’t have to listen to any more.
THE ROOM WAS meant for two patients, but there was only one bed in it at the moment. The space by the window was empty. Gerd looked so tiny in the neatly made hospital bed. Her eyes were closed, and she looked as if she were sleeping. Her pale face almost matched the white pillowcase. For the first time in her life, Irene thought of her mother as old. She had aged so quickly over the past few days. Irene edged closer to the bed, not wanting to wake her. As if she sensed her daughter’s presence, Gerd opened her eyes and looked straight at Irene.
“Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?”
Gerd licked her chapped lips several times before she spoke, “I’m fine. Can you get me some water please?” With a trembling hand she pointed to the empty glass on the bedside table.
Irene leaned over and gave her mother a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek. Perhaps she was being a little too cautious, but Gerd looked more fragile since her accident. Or maybe it was just Irene’s imagination. She picked up the glass and went over to the sink. It took forever before the stream of water even began to feel cool against her fingers.
“To think you have to throw yourself down on the sidewalk and break your hip to get to the top of the waiting list for surgery!” Gerd said behind her.
When Irene turned around, her mother’s eyes were twinkling and she was smiling mischievously.
“Wasn’t that a bit drastic?” Irene said.
“Maybe. But I’m having my operation. On Tuesday.”
Gerd sounded very pleased with herself and seemed to be in good spirits. Irene realized how relieved she was feeling. She had been worried that the concussion and painkillers would leave her mother feeling depressed or confused, but she was reassured to find that Gerd appeared to be her usual self. Irene went over to the bed and gave her the water.
Gerd took several sips and put down the almost-empty glass on the bedside table. “Could you get in touch with Sture? That’s where I was going when … when this happened. He called me. He wasn’t feeling too good.”
“Was it his heart?”
“Yes. His keys are in my purse. Could you take them and go see him? He’s only got me; there’s no one else. Actually, you can take my keys as well so that you can water my plants, pick up the mail and …”
“Mom, we’ve already got a spare key to your apartment. I promise we’ll take care of everything. And I promise I’ll speak to Sture and make sure he’s okay.”
Gerd’s hand was resting on the covers. Irene squeezed it gently. It was so thin. Why haven’t I noticed that Mom has lost weight recently? she thought. Or did I just not want to see it? Irene blamed her lack of time. As usual.
“How’s your head feeling? Sister Anna said you had a mild concussion,” Irene said, trying to push away all thoughts of self-reproach.
“I was dizzy for the first day or so, but I’m much better now. The pain in my leg and hip is worse. And I’m in some kind of frame so I can’t turn over. But they’re giving me strong painkillers, which is good. The only thing is I feel a bit disorientated. What time is it?”
“Almost ten thirty.”
“Is it Monday or Tuesday?”
“Monday,” Irene said.
Now she was worried again. Gerd had tried to give the impression that her mind was clear, but this obviously wasn’t the case. Irene hoped it was because of the strong medication.
“Good. I’m glad it’s only Monday, otherwise they would have missed my operation. I’m first on the list on Tuesday morning,” Gerd said.
“I’m pleased to hear that you seem convinced you’ll be fine before too long,” Irene said.
“Of course! The pain I’ve had in this goddamn hip over the past year … you have no idea. I’m so pleased to be having surgery at long last. Even if I can’t walk afterward, at least the pain will be gone.”
“But Mom, of course you’ll be able to walk!” Irene protested.
“Maybe. We’ll just have to see what happens,” Gerd murmured.
Her eyelids were beginning to droop. When Irene thought she had fallen asleep, she quietly got to her feet. At which point Gerd’s eyes flew open and she fixed her daughter with a sharp stare.
“And a panic alarm wouldn’t have helped at all! They only work inside the apartment!”
She closed her eyes again before Irene had time to respond.
Indomitable and stubborn; thank you for passing on those qualities to me, my darling Mom.
Irene turned around in the doorway and looked back at her mother. The covers rose and fell with her steady breathing. You’re going to get through this, she thought tenderly.
THE APARTMENT COMPLEX had been built in the 1950s, just like the one that housed the three-bedroom apartment Gerd had occupied for almost forty years. The only difference was that Sture’s place had only two rooms. He had bought it after the death of his wife fifteen years earlier, when he sold their house and moved into the city. He and Gerd had met at the grocery store on Doktor Fries Square, where they were both regular customers. They had often bumped into each other and started chatting. After a year or so a genuine affection had developed between them, and they had been together for almost ten years. Neither of them had been interested in moving in together. As Gerd had put it, “I’ve spent my whole life developing good and bad habits, and I have absolutely no desire to change now.”
Sture and Gerd had had a very happy relationship over the years, and Irene had often blessed the day they met. She and her family had always been very fond of Sture, who was a kind, quiet man.
Irene called him on her cell, but there was no reply. She began to feel the faint stirrings of anxiety and unconsciously tried to put her foot down, which was impossible in the lunchtime traffic.
There was an empty parking space right next to the main entrance. She unlocked the outside door and hurried up to the first floor. She
rang the bell and heard it echo peremptorily through the apartment, but there were no sounds of movement from inside. She used the key Gerd had given her to let herself in.
“Sture! It’s me, Irene!”
Her voice reached into every room, but there was no reply. The faint smell of an elderly gentleman hovered in the air. Not at all unpleasant, but very distinctive.
The living room was furnished with items that must have dated from the time when Sture and his wife were newly married. The only modern features were a large flat-screen TV on the wall and an impressive music system. The bookshelves were mainly filled with hundreds of CDs and vinyl LPs; Sture was a great music lover. He did have a small number of books: mainly biographies and travel writing.
The compact kitchen was clean and tidy as usual. It had been renovated at some stage in the 1970s, and was starting to look as if it needed doing again. The stove definitely needed replacing, as did the old refrigerator, which was humming loudly to itself. Outside the window some blue tits were fighting over a suet ball that Sture had hung up. The poor things needed all the help they could get in this harsh winter.
In the bedroom the bed was neatly made. There were some folded items of clothing on a chair, and freshly ironed shirts hung on the closet door. The ironing board was still standing in the middle of the floor. Irene checked to make sure that the iron was unplugged, which it was. The Christmas cactus in the window was wilting, and she decided to water it before she left the apartment.
She found him on the tiled floor in the bathroom. It looked as if he had been on his way toward the hand basin or the small cabinet above it, because he had pitched forward and was lying with his head under the basin. She had seen enough bodies over the past twenty years to be certain that he had been dead for some time. The body was cold. Nothing feels as cold as a dead person.
If what Gerd had said was correct, he could have been lying on the floor for almost forty-eight hours. Why had he called her instead of an ambulance?
Irene sat down in a small high-backed armchair in the living room while she waited for the ambulance and the police. Her throat closed up, choked with tears that couldn’t quite break through. Or perhaps she didn’t want to let them break through; she didn’t really know. It felt as if everything was suddenly too much. Too many bodies. She couldn’t cope anymore. But she had to, for Gerd’s sake.
The Beige Man Page 22
