Marked for Life (21 page)

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE

SHE TASTED BLOOD
in her mouth. She was completely exhausted.

The girl threw herself to the ground and crept up to a rock. The pine needles pricked her through her trousers and here and there you could see small red stains of blood. The branches had cut up her legs when she ran.

She tried to hold her breath so that she could hear any sound. But it was hard. She was completely out of breath. Her heart was thumping away from the effort and her head throbbed from the pulsating blood.

She pushed away a strand of hair that had fastened on her sweaty forehead. Tried to straighten her fingers, which had a clamplike hold on the gun. There were seven bullets left in the magazine. She put the gun down on her lap.

She sat there for two hours. Against the rock.

Then she started to run again.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX

Monday, April 23

LENA WIKSTRÖM HAD
been arrested on suspicion of murdering Thomas Rydberg. Jana Berzelius had asked the court to detain her in custody and there would be a hearing later the same day. Lena would be interrogated, and Gunnar was looking forward to that.

He whistled where he stood waiting in the stairwell. The elevator was in use and the button with the upward-pointing arrow lit up. Even so, he pressed the button a second and third time. As if the elevator would come faster for that.

He felt happy and somewhat relieved over having achieved a breakthrough in the investigation. They had visited Lena Wikström on routine business and quite unexpectedly found they now had a major suspect for the murder of Thomas Rydberg—at any rate she was involved in the murder. Finding Rydberg's mobile in Lena's house was a circumstance they couldn't ignore.

The news about the phone had leaked out to the media during the morning and at a quarter to two in the afternoon Gunnar managed to leave the press conference.

At that, the police press officer had tried to keep to short answers to general questions about Lena Wikström and tried to completely ignore questions of her involvement in the murders of Juhlén and the unidentified boy. Gunnar had hoped that the statement would give the impression that the investigation was moving forward all the time and that thanks to the breakthrough with Lena they could hope that it would all soon be over. But when press officer Sara Arvidsson concluded her short announcement, keen hands shot up into the air followed by a shower of questions.
Is she guilty of the murder of Hans Juhlén? Has she killed the boy too? Can you confirm that she sold drugs?
Arvidsson gave the vaguest answers she could, and mentioned that the investigation was at a sensitive stage, then thanked those present and left.

Gunnar took the elevator up to the police center and grabbed something to eat in the cafeteria. It would be a little while before they started questioning Lena. Feeling hungry, he went straight to the vending machines and selected a chocolate bar and gobbled it down where he stood. Out of the elevator came Peter Ramstedt, in a shiny suit, orange shirt and spotted tie. His hair was backcombed and surprisingly blond. He must be Lena's lawyer too, Gunnar thought.

“Eating on the sly, Gunnar? Doesn't Anneli keep track of you?”

“No,” said Gunnar.

“Are you still a couple these days or what? One hears so many rumors.”

“You shouldn't believe rumors.”

Peter smirked widely.

“No, no, of course not,” he said and pulled up his jacket sleeve to see what time it was. “We start in ten minutes. Who's the prosecutor?”

That very same moment the elevator doors opened again and Jana Berzelius stepped out. Today she was wearing a knee-long skirt with a high waist, a white blouse and colored bracelets. Her hair was dead straight and her lips a pale pink.

“Speak of the devil,” said Ramstedt loudly. “Shall we?”

Gunnar led the way down the corridor.

Peter Ramstedt walked side-by-side with Jana Berzelius.

He glanced at her.

“Yes, well, you haven't got much of a case,” he said.

“No?”

“No technical evidence.”

“We've got the phone.”

“That doesn't tie my client to the crime.”

“Oh yes, it does.”

“She isn't going to confess.”

“Oh yes, she is,” said Jana and walked into the interview room. “Believe me.”

* * *

Mia Bolander stood with her legs apart and her arms folded. Behind the mirror window she had a good view of the interview room.

Lena Wikström sat huddled up, her eyes fixed on the table top and her hands folded on her lap. The lawyer sat down, whispered something to her, and she nodded in answer without looking up at him.

Opposite them sat Henrik Levin. Mia saw when he said hello to Jana Berzelius, who put her briefcase down on the floor, pulled out a chair and settled down. She looked her usual alert self. Elegant. Superior. Fucking hell.

The door opened behind Mia, and Gunnar Öhrn came in. He checked that all the technical equipment was working. It was controlled from a few switches and the system allowed them to record on several different media at the same time. It had a function for two cameras that recorded simultaneously so Mia and Gunnar could follow Lena and Henrik on the same screen.

Gunnar went and stood by the window.

At exactly two o'clock, Henrik started the tape recorder and began questioning Lena. Her eyes didn't leave the table when Henrik asked the first questions. She just mumbled her answers.

“We understand that you deleted a list of number and letter combinations from Hans Juhlén's computer on Sunday, April 15. Why?” said Henrik.

“I was told to do so,” said Lena.

“By whom?”

“I can't say.”

“Did you know someone named Thomas Rydberg?”

“No.”

“Strange. Because he sent a text message to you.”

“Did he?”

“Don't play stupid now. We know that he had.”

“Well, then I suppose he had then.”

“Good, so now you can explain what Tues. 1 means?”

“No.”

“You don't know or you won't tell?”

Lena didn't answer.

Henrik fidgeted.

“But you do confess that you deleted the file which contained the combinations,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what the combinations mean?”

“No.”

“I think you do.”

“No.”

“According to our information, you deleted identity numbers. For containers.”

Lena huddled slightly more.

“We need your help to find these containers,” said Henrik.

Lena remained silent.

“It's important that you tell us where those containers are.”

“It won't be possible to find them.”

“Why not? Why won't it be...”

“It won't,” she cut him off. “Because I don't know where they are.”

“I'm convinced you are not telling the truth.”

“Perhaps my client is simply saying what she knows, nothing more,” said Peter Ramstedt.

“I don't think so,” said Henrik.

And nor do I, thought Mia behind the mirror. She scratched herself under her nose with her index finger and then folded her arms again.

“We'll be sitting in this room until you tell us where the containers are,” said Henrik. “So tell us now.”

“But I can't.”

“Why not?”

“You don't understand.”

“What is it we don't understand?”

“It isn't so simple.”

“We've got all the time in the world to listen. Tell us now what...”

“No,” she cut him off again. “Even if I tell you, you won't be able to get at them.”

The room fell silent.

Mia looked at Jana who had fixed her gaze on Lena.

Henrik leaned back on his chair and sighed.

“Okay, then we'll talk about something else meanwhile, about you,” he said. “Can I ask...”

Now it was Jana who cut him off. She had leaned forward slightly. Her dark eyes met Lena's uncooperative look.

“How many children do you have?” she said slowly.

Oh, right, she's going to ask the questions now too, thought Mia, irritated. She looked at Gunnar who stood next to her. He was deeply engrossed in the interview and didn't notice her eyes on him.

“Two,” whispered Lena and looked down at the table. She swallowed.

“And what about grandchildren? How many grandchildren do you have?”

“But...” was heard from Peter Ramstedt.

“Let her answer,” said Jana.

Mia rolled her eyes and gave a bit of a grunt. She looked at Gunnar yet again. But he didn't notice her demonstrative body language. He just stared at Jana. Of course he thought she was pretty with her long dark hair and everything. If dark hair could be called pretty. Which in fact it wasn't. It was bloody ugly with dark hair like that. And long.

Mia touched her own blond hair and watched Jana who still sat there and waited for an answer from Lena.

“The prosecutor asked how many grandchildren you have,” said Henrik.

But what the hell? thought Mia, and took a step back from the window. It looks as if...yes, it looks as if she...

Lena's lips quivered. She nervously clasped her fingers together. Then she raised her head and looked at Jana, at Henrik and Jana again.

A tear fell slowly down her cheek.

“The containers are off at Brandö Island,” she said slowly.

* * *

Two hours later, Gunnar Öhrn and Henrik Levin had a long and heated discussion with the county police commissioner Carin Radler where they had described their progress in the investigation. Carin listened patiently while they recounted the interview with Lena Wikström.

“You could say that it is of utmost importance that we salvage those containers,” said Gunnar.

“And how many people know about her involvement?” said Carin.

“So far, only the team. We must work quickly before the media get wind of all this.”

“And how will you explain the salvage operation?”

“We'll cover it.”

“But I consider a salvage operation to be irrelevant. The containers you talk of might not even exist.”

“I believe they do, and we must find out what they contain.”

“But I'm the one who makes the decision in this case.”

“I know.”

“Putting resources into such an operation is very costly.”

“But necessary,” said Gunnar. “Two people and a boy have been murdered. Now we must find out why.”

Carin thought a while.

“What do you want?” Gunnar had asked.

“I want a solution.”

“Good, we do too.”

Carin nodded briefly.

“Okay. I'll rely on your judgment. The salvage operation can start tomorrow. Phone the docks.”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN

IT WAS EARLY
morning when she got back to Stockholm.

The girl stumbled along on the cobbled street, supporting herself with one hand against the rough façade of the buildings. The shop window glass reflected her mirror image but she did not care. Her little hand touched the locked doors as she passed by. She was looking for a place to hide. Somewhere she could rest. The gun rubbed uncomfortably against her tummy; she had to stop it falling out from her waistband so she used her other hand to keep it in place.

A pedestrian tunnel appeared in front of her. She staggered down the stairs and when she was on the bottom step she met an elderly couple. They stopped and stared at her. But she just kept on going.

The girl felt dizzy. Her legs suddenly gave way and she thrust out her arms to break the fall when she landed on the hard concrete floor. She got up again. Took one step at a time. Supported herself with one hand on the tiled walls. She looked straight ahead and counted every time she put one foot down in front of the other. She had to keep focused. At the end of the tunnel she saw a barrier; she tried to get through but the doors wouldn't budge. So she sank down on the floor and crawled under it. Then she heard a female voice behind her.

“Hello there! You must pay!”

But the girl didn't listen. Kept on going.

The voice got louder.

“Hello you! You must pay if you want to travel through here!”

She stopped, turned round and whipped the gun out from her trousers. A woman in uniform behind her immediately held up her hands and took a step back. The girl balanced the gun's weight in her hands; it felt dreadfully heavy. She could hardly hold it up.

The woman looked frightened. So did the other people who passed by. They all stopped in their tracks and stood completely still.

She waved the gun in front of her and backed toward the stairs. When she reached the top step she turned round and ran down as fast as she could. Her arms shook. She had trouble holding the gun up. She counted as she walked straight ahead 32 steps, and then she lost her footing on the last one. She twisted her ankle in the fall; the pain was intense. Still she didn't show any emotion.

She got up again and limped across to a garbage can. A metallic sound could be heard when the gun landed on the bottom. She shuffled on, relieved that she no longer had to carry the heavy weapon. Now she felt all right. And she would feel even better if she could only get some sleep. Just a little.

Exhausted, she hid in a little space behind a bench, flopping down with her back against a concrete wall. The hard surface pressed against her backbone. Her ankle was throbbing but she didn't care. She found herself in a borderland state between dream and reality.

Then she fell asleep. Sitting in the underground station.