Marked for Life (28 page)

Mia too. They listened for the sound of an engine but couldn't hear anything except the noise of the launch they were sitting in.

When they reached the next island, Rolf slowed down a little and Henrik's gaze swept over the jagged rocks. The wind whistled in his ears. Two seagulls circled high above them, with a shrill squawking.

Mia stood on her toes to be able to look over the railing. They slowed down a bit more, and Rolf zigzagged among the waves to stop them from drifting into land.

“Go on ahead,” said Henrik, and they rounded the island. Rolf increased the speed again and the wind caught Henrik's jacket. A feeling of doubt was beginning to grip him. No boat to be seen.

“There!” shouted Mia suddenly and pointed eagerly with her hand. “There! There! I can see it!”

Rolf immediately steered in the direction she pointed.

“A Chaparral,” he shouted out. “A fast vessel I'm afraid.”

The Chaparral sped off, as if the driver had seen the coast guard launch. Henrik drew his gun and Mia did the same. Rolf increased the speed of the launch and slowly got nearer to the boat.

“Police!” Henrik shouted and showed his weapon. “Stop!”

His words drowned in the noise from the engines.

The Chaparral went off at full throttle and increased the distance between them.

“He's trying to get away,” Rolf shouted and followed at the same speed.

The chase continued at high speed. Henrik's jacket flapped wildly in the wind stream. The cold bit into his cheeks and his hair stuck out behind.

“Police!” shouted Henrik even louder when they got closer to the boat.

He just managed to catch a glimpse of the driver before he sheered right in front of them. A dark-haired man, oldish, dark hair under a rough cap.

“Hell,” shouted Rolf, and sheered too.

They clipped the waves fast. The cascades got higher and higher.

The Chaparral slowed down unexpectedly.

Henrik raised his pistol without letting go of the railing.

“Stop!” he shouted to the driver.

But the boat sheered again and raced off.

“After him, Rolf! After him!”

Rolf opened the throttle and followed closely behind. The boat in front of them slowed down yet again. Then sheered and pulled away at a high speed.

* * *

Jana Berzelius knew that she shouldn't do it. Nevertheless, she sat there with the phone in her hand and wrote a text message to Danilo. She tried to compose it as cryptically as possible. She had bought a new telephone and a prepaid SIM card and knew that would never give her away, but she was still not entirely convinced.

So she wrote:
A gave me the place. Papa soon home.

She was just about to send the text when her private telephone started ringing in her pocket. She picked it up and saw that it was a hidden number. She sincerely hoped it was Danilo phoning, and she immediately answered.

It was Henrik Levin.

“We've got him,” he said in a calm and controlled voice.

Jana held her breath.

“We got him after a one-and-a-half-hour boat chase,” said Henrik.

“At last,” whispered Jana.

“We need a hearing. Immediately.”

“I'll arrange it. And the interrogation?”

“That will start tomorrow morning.”

Jana ended the conversation with a brisk “see you!” She was trembling. With shaking hands she again picked up the newly bought phone and deleted the last part of the message. Instead she wrote:
A gave me the place. Papa is home.

Then she pressed the button and sent the message.

* * *

Danilo stared at his cell.

“Hell,” he shouted as loud as he could. “Bloody hell!”

He banged his fist against the wall with all his strength.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

He was in a rage. Absolutely mad. How could he have let it go so wrong? Anders should have killed her! Anders was an idiot, a failed fucking idiot who never did a single fucking thing right in the whole fucking world. First he fails to take the boy to the island, and then he fails to deal with Jana.

Danilo sighed. He was forced to deal with it himself. As usual. It was always him who had to sort everything out. And everything was a bloody mess just now.

“Fuck!” he shouted out yet again.

He thought of different ways of dealing with Jana. For ever. Or was there a chance she could be used in some way? Could he make use of her instead?

A smile spread across Danilo's face.

The more he thought about the possibility of using Jana, the clearer his strategy became.

After ten minutes he knew exactly what he would do. She only had herself to blame. She was the one who started stirring the shit, and once you'd done that you had to accept the consequences.

Whatever they may be.

CHAPTER
FIFTY

Sunday, April 29

GUNNAR ÖHRN STOOD
with a cup of coffee in his hand, and looked at the extra news bulletin on the TV which was about the arrest of Gavril Bolanaki.

The county police commissioner had demanded that the press officer should issue a press release and the news was spread within an hour of the man's arrest.

“Does it feel okay?”

Anneli Lindgren lay on one side of the bed with a sheet wrapped around her naked body.

She too had listened to the news bulletin.

“Yes, it feels good that we caught him. He's going to be interrogated tomorrow. Will there be time to search the whole island before that?”

Anneli lay on her back and stretched out on the mattress.

“Yes, we've got several Forensics working there today, and there must be lots of places we can take samples for DNA testing. At least I hope so.”

“Me too,” said Gunnar and took yet another gulp of coffee, just as the telephone rang.

It was Ola Söderström.

“Now listen to this, we've finally got an answer,” he said. “The department of transportation has managed to identify the driver of the van that the witness Erik Nordlund thought he saw on Arkösund Road. The van belongs to an Anders Paulsson, fifty-five. He worked as a loader for DHL for twenty years. Now he's got his own firm, in the transport sector too. What's most interesting is that he was married to Thomas Rydberg's sister. She died of cancer ten years ago and he doesn't seem to have anyone new.”

“So Rydberg and Anders are linked to each other,” Gunnar noted. “Where does he live?”

“In Jonsberg, Arkösund,” said Ola.

“That sounds most interesting. I'll put Henrik and Mia on it straightaway,” said Gunnar and put the phone down.

* * *

Mia Bolander was drinking a cup of coffee. It was still too hot and she sipped it slowly while she examined herself in the car mirror. During the night the mascara had formed tiny, tiny black dots around her eyes.

“Oh, fuck!” she swore out loud.

“Hard night?” said Henrik.

“As if you'd know what that means.”

“I know quite a lot about parties.”

“Children's parties, or what?”

“No.”

“When was the last time you boozed so much that your head exploded?”

“So that's what you've done, is it?”

“Yep. I have. And fucked too. And it was damned nice!”

“Well, thank you, but that was more information than I needed.”

“Don't ask so much then!”

He sighed and checked the speedometer to ensure he was going at exactly the permitted speed.

Mia went back to trying to rub the mascara from around her eyes.

They had about ten kilometers left to Jonsberg where Anders Paulsson lived. Fifteen minutes later they arrived outside the red detached house. In the yard outside stood a white van, an Opel. The garden was not cared for, and the blinds were pulled down inside. The corners of the building that had once been white were now discolored and gray.

Henrik drove slowly past, parked some way away, turned off the engine and got out. Mia downed the last drops of the coffee. As she put the mug in the holder between the seats, she saw that Henrik's wallet lay there. She acted quick as a flash, got hold of the wallet and opened it and took a one-hundred kronor bill, shoved it into her pants pocket, then put the wallet back. Then she broke into a smile, opened the car door and stepped out.

Henrik had by now snuck up to the house and was crouching down next to the back wheel of a parked van. His eyes glistened with enthusiasm when Mia approached.

Together they went up to the house and stood on either side of the front door. Mia placed a foot against the door to prevent anyone from knocking it open.

Then they rang the doorbell. The sound echoed from inside. They waited thirty seconds. Then rang again. Still nothing. They exchanged looks and rang the bell once more. Still nothing happened.

Mia went around the side of the house and saw that all the windows had their blinds pulled down. Everything was quiet. On the other side of the house she discovered an open window. She called to Henrik to come as she got a firm grip on the window frame and then hoisted herself up with one leg closely followed by the other. With a less than gracious jump, she disappeared into the house.

Once inside, she was hit by the dreadful stench of excrement. She immediately put one hand inside her jacket and pulled the cloth over her nose. She looked down at the floor and discovered heaps of shit and dried-up stains of urine.

There was rubbish everywhere. Cardboard boxes piled on top of each other. Old newspapers in heaps, moldy remains of food on paper plates, empty bottles, beer cans and fast-food cartons. An old radiator was on a sofa. The carpet was rolled up. The table had a big crack in it, and the wallpaper was ripped.

Henrik looked in through the open window and the acrid smell of feces immediately made him nauseous. He pulled his head back and retched.

Mia took a couple of cautious steps forward with her drawn weapon, maneuvered her way between the piles of shit and all the rubbish.

“Police!” she called out, but her voice was drowned by a feeling of queasiness.

Mia came into a hall and saw the door to the kitchen. The hall too was in an awful mess, and she could hardly discern the wallpaper pattern because of all the rubbish piled up against the walls. She went into the kitchen and was met by an even worse stench. It came from a man who lay in a strange position. His mouth was open wide, his eyes staring blankly, and Mia could quickly see that he was dead.

CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE

Monday, April 30

JANA BERZELIUS WANTED
to delay the planned morning trial, but there wasn't any legal possibility to do so. For the first time in her professional career as a prosecutor she had also hoped that one of the parties who were called to court would have given due notice of inability to attend. If one of the witnesses had suddenly fallen ill, or there had been serious disruption to public transport, or for some other unpredictable reason had not been able to come to the court, then they would have had to postpone the hearing. But unfortunately all the parties were present, as were the lay magistrates and the judge, and Jana's spirits deflated a little. The trial would start at the designated time.

She sighed and opened her red folder with the evidence she was going to present in court. The charge was arson. She looked at the clock. In five minutes the trial would start. And in five minutes they would start questioning Gavril Bolanaki at the police station. She had been in touch with Henrik Levin by phone and told him to start the interview without her. She hoped the trial would be over within an hour and then she would hurry to the detention center to confront him, confront Papa.

She tidied her hair. Let her hand stop on her neck. Felt the carved letters.

The time has come
, she thought.

At last.

* * *

Henrik Levin looked up at the man who sat in front of him. Black shirt with rolled-up sleeves. His hair was dark, longish and combed back. His nose was wide and his eyes dark, framed by bushy eyebrows. The scar on his face went from his forehead down to his chin; it was hard to stop staring at it. Henrik fixed his gaze on the other half of the man's face and started to speak: “What were you doing out at sea?”

Silence.

“Why did you flee from us?”

Silence.

“Do you live on the island?”

Still silent.

“Have you seen this boy before?”

Henrik showed him a photo of Thanatos.

The man raised one corner of his mouth in what resembled an arrogant smile.

“I want a lawyer,” he said slowly.

Henrik sighed.

He had no choice but to obey.

* * *

After two hours, the trial was about halfway through. Jana was frustrated. The injured party and the accused had been interrogated to establish facts and after the break the witnesses and the written evidence would be dealt with. She got up from the prosecutor's bench and left the courtroom. After a quick visit to the restroom, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and saw that she had missed a call from a hidden number. A recorded message said that Henrik Levin had tried to get hold of her, and she immediately phoned him.

“How are things going?” she said when he answered.

“Nothing yet,” he said.

“Nothing at all?” said Jana.

“No. He's saying nothing. He's demanding a lawyer.”

“Then he'll get one. But I want to talk to him first.”

“It's pointless.”

“But I want to try.”

She looked at the clock and went on: “In three hours the trial here ought to be over. Then we can start questioning him again.”

“Okay. The interview room at two o'clock again,” said Henrik.

“Without a lawyer.”

“We can't do that.”

“Yes, we can. I'm the prosecutor and he's my client and I want to talk with him.”

Jana savored the words:
my client.

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Just five minutes. That's all I ask.”

“Okay.”

When the conversation ended, she remained standing there a while with the phone pressed to her chest. She felt exhilarated in some way.

Almost happy.

* * *

Mia sat leaning well back in the chair with her arms crossed over her chest. Henrik had left the interview room in a hurry to answer a call from Jana Berzelius and meanwhile she sat there and kept an eye on the suspect. The man in front of her half smiled all the time. His head was lowered and the lamp cast shadows over the scar on his face.

“Do you believe in God?” said Mia.

The man didn't answer.

“Your name. Gavril. It means God is...”

“My strength,” he filled in. “Thank you, I know what it means,” he said.

“So you believe in God?”

“No, I am God.”

“Oh yeah? That's nice.”

He smirked at her. She felt uncomfortable. Squirmed. Gavril did the same. Copied.

“A god doesn't kill,” said Mia.

“God gives and takes.”

“But he doesn't kill children.”

“Oh yes, he does.”

“So you've killed children?”

Gavril smirked again.

“What the fuck are you smirking at?”

She leaned back in the chair. Gavril too.

“I haven't killed any children,” he said. “I've got a son myself; why would I want to kill such small creatures?”

“But we fucking well found your hairs on a little girl who lay in a mass grave on an island which you were on your way to!”

“But that doesn't mean I've killed her, does it?”

Mia glared at Gavril. He glared back. She refused to look away.

“But I wonder,” he said slowly. Still glaring hard at her. “If I knew who has killed them and if I tell you, what would you do for me?”

“Yes, what would we do for you?”

Gavril heard her sarcasm. He clenched his teeth, hissed.

“I don't think you understand what I mean. If I tell you who did it, what do I get in return then?”

“This isn't a fucking negotiation. Don't you...”

“I want you to listen very carefully.”

Gavril leaned forward. Came close to Mia. Unpleasantly close.

She didn't look away. She couldn't lose.

“If you lock me up, I want you to remember my face for the day I get out. Do you get what I mean?” he hissed.

Then he calmed down, leaned back on the chair and said: “You'll be making a big mistake if you lock me up. That's why I'm making my offer. I can easily name several key people who govern the Swedish drug trade today. I can point out places and persons. But I think you are most interested in the children's role in all this. I'm right, aren't I?”

Mia refused to answer.

“So if I tell you how it all fits together, what will you do for me? I'm not going to confess to anything about myself, but I can tell you everything I know about the others. If that is of interest, I mean. But I think it is.”

Mia bit her lip.

“I have a suggestion,” said Gavril. “If I tell you everything then you must protect me and my son. If you lock me up now, you won't get to know anything and I can guarantee that more children will die. I am the only one who can put a stop to it. I want to have the best possible protection too. From the highest levels. Otherwise I won't say anything. So—how do you want it?”

Mia lost. Her gaze left his. She looked down at the table, then straight into the mirror in the window. She knew that Gunnar stood there behind it, and she knew that he was just as uncertain as she was.

What the fuck should they do now?

* * *

It was 13:42. The trial was over and Jana Berzelius gathered up her papers and left the courtroom in a hurry. As usual she went straight to the emergency exit and pressed the white fire door open with her hip. With quick steps she ran down the stairs to the heated garage down below. And while she maneuvered her car out of the parking place, she phoned Henrik Levin to persuade him to prepare the second interview with Gavril. But the number was busy.

She drove quickly out of the garage and made another attempt to reach Henrik, but even though she heard it ringing this time, he didn't answer. She thought every traffic light changed to red as soon as she approached. The pedestrians took an exaggeratedly long time to cross at the zebra crossings and the other motorists drove unusually slowly in front of her. When she did finally reach the police station, all the parking spaces were occupied too, and she had to drive round three times before she found a small space in which to park.

She could hardly open the door without it touching the car next to hers, and she had to pull in her stomach and hold her breath to get out of the car. She half ran across to the stairwell where she pressed the button to summon the lift. She waited and waited but according to the display the elevator was only going up and down between the higher floors. In the end she took the stairs.

She was out of breath when she got to the department and made an attempt to compose herself before she opened the door to the interview rooms. There was frantic activity in there, and the first person she met was police officer Gabriel Mellqvist.

He immediately held up his hand.

“This is a prohibited area.”

“I have a meeting with my client and I'm a bit late,” said Jana.

“What is your client's name?”

“Gavril Bolanaki.”

“I'm sorry, you can't come in.”

“Why not?”

“The case is closed.”

“Closed? How can it be closed?”

“I'm sorry, Jana, you must leave.”

Gabriel pushed her out through the door and closed it in front of her. She remained standing in the corridor, surprised and angry.

She pulled out her phone and rang Henrik again. No answer. Rang Gunnar. No answer.

She swore out loud and then ran down the stairs to the garage.

* * *

Lena Wikström sat in her cell and banged her head against the concrete wall. The only soft thing in the cell was a mattress with a plastic cover and yellowish faded sheets, and she sat crouched up toward the end of the mattress with her arms clasped around her legs. On the wall was an oval-shaped white lamp and next to that somebody had used a black object to misspell Fuck and instead written Fukc. Some weak light came in between the bars in the window. The cell was eight square meters and besides the bed contained a sort of wooden desk with a built-in and very solidly anchored chair, also of wood.

Lena had been in the detention cells for seven days. She had dealt with it without great problems since she—deep inside—had hoped she would get out. But this particular day her hopes had been dashed. In the line to lunch she had heard the news that Gavril had been arrested and was also in the detention center. She left her food untouched on the tray. She hadn't even been able to drink the milk she had been served. It had been
him
who was going to help
her
out. But now he too was locked up, in a cell close to hers.

It's over now, she thought and banged her head harder against the wall. Now everything is over, and I'm finished too. I just have to accept that. There is nothing more I can do. Just one thing remains. And that is that I must get away from here.

From this life on Earth.

* * *

Torsten Granath stood beside his desk wearing a beige coat and was just putting a folder in his briefcase when Jana Berzelius stormed into his office. She stood in the middle of the room, putting her weight on one leg, with her arms folded.

“What's happening?” she said.

Torsten looked up at her, a question mark on his face.

“I must go home. My wife phoned, and there are problems with Ludde. He has been eating his own excrement the last 24 hours. We must take him to the vet's.”

“I mean Gavril Bolanaki. What's happening?”

“Ah yes, that. We were going to inform you.”

“Why is it finished? He's my client.”

“The case is closed. The Security Service has taken over. Nobody can talk to him. Not even you.”

“Why not?”

“He's going to be an informer.”

“What do you mean, informer?”

“He's going to help the police in their mapping of the drug trade in Sweden. Because of the threatening picture for him, both he and his son are now in the care of the Security Service and they will be moved from the detention center tomorrow morning at nine.”

“Does he have a son?”

“Evidently he does.”

“Where are they going to move him to?”

“That's confidential, Jana. You know that.”

“But...”

“Drop it now.”

“But we've got him...”

“As prosecutor it isn't about convicting people, but about finding out the truth.”

“I know.”

“And now the police will have the best possible insight into the drug trade. That was the only good thing to come from this.”

No, it wasn't, Jana thought and turned on her heel and stormed out again.

* * *

Jana Berzelius was resolute. Her eyes had narrowed; she felt like killing somebody...in particular the person who had decided that Gavril Bolanaki would get protection. Gavril had manipulated the police, she knew that. He had led them to believe that he was just a minor figure with good insight in what had gone on. Now he would avoid everything, the hearing, the trial and conviction. He would get away!

She squeezed her hands around the steering wheel, slowed down and opened the side window. She quickly drew the parking card in the reader and then drove into the garage with screeching tires. She parked at her reserved place and slammed the car door behind her. In the stairwell she took two steps at a time up to her apartment. With a firm grip she put the key into the lock, opened the door and stepped into the hallway. She was just about to close the door when she saw a hand grasp it from the outside. She didn't have time to react before a darkly clad figure pushed his way in behind her.

His face was well hidden with a large hood. Then he held up both hands, showing his empty palms to her.

“No fighting, Jana,” said the man and she immediately recognized the voice.

It belonged to Danilo. He pulled off the hood and exposed his face.

“You ought to be more careful,” he said.

Jana snorted at him and turned on the ceiling light.