Snowdrift

by Helene Tursten

  Louise didn’t turn around; she simply said in the same expressionless voice, “Yes, please. Cheese.”

  While Embla busied herself with the sandwich, Göran reached out and picked up a slice of bread. Then he paused and looked at Louise.

  “Is it okay if we have something to eat?”

  Embla was surprised, but she realized why he was asking. He thought they were going to be here for quite some time.

  Louise nodded without taking her eyes off her son, who’d started on his second sandwich. “Of course.”

  “We have a colleague on the landing—could we take her a coffee?”

  Another nod.

  Embla poured a large cup of black coffee because that was how Irene took her elixir. Taking care not to spill a drop, she made her way into the hallway and managed to get the door open. Irene took the hot drink with a smile. She refused the offer of a sandwich and settled down on the windowsill once more.

  As Embla headed back to the kitchen, she heard Göran say:

  “I’m so sorry. I assumed you knew that Kador was dead. That you’d heard from the police in Split.”

  His apology was met by silence.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Louise said, “How . . . How did he die?”

  “Before I tell you any more, I have to ask how much Swedish the boy knows.”

  “None at all. Miranda and Adam understand the odd word.”

  “But not whole sentences?”

  “No.”

  “By the way, where are the two older children? It’s almost five-thirty,” Göran pointed out.

  “They’re at the pool. They’re both keen swimmers, and they’ve joined the Alingsås swimming club.”

  Embla remembered the parking lot where she and Göran had pulled in; it was some distance away. Göran must have had the same thought.

  “Will they be walking home?”

  “No. The mother of one of Adam’s classmates will bring them back.” Louise looked down at her hands. “How did he die?” she asked again.

  “According to our colleagues in Split, he was found in a cottage up in the mountains. The place had been burned to the ground. His teeth were X-rayed and the results were compared to dental records.”

  The blue eyes were huge in her pale face. “His teeth . . . Was there . . . nothing else left?”

  Göran swallowed. “Not much.”

  Still no tears, but Embla could see that Lollo’s hands were shaking with the shock. She picked up her cup but had to put it down again. She hadn’t touched her sandwich.

  After several attempts, Göran managed to reestablish eye contact with her. “Do you feel up to telling us what happened? Why you and the children left in such a hurry?”

  The shimmering pink lips were compressed into a thin line, and she looked down at her coffee. After taking a moment to compose herself, she met his gaze once more. “I had no choice. For the safety of my children . . . and myself,” she said, speaking a little more loudly now.

  Göran gave her an encouraging nod. Meanwhile, Embla took out her phone and pretended to read a message. Discreetly she pressed the record button and placed the phone next to her cup.

  “Did Kador feel threatened?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long had he felt that way?”

  “Ever since Luca was shot outside the club. And since his . . . friend died.”

  “We know about that, but that happened four years ago. Are you telling me Kador hasn’t felt safe since then?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say to you about the situation?”

  Before she could answer, Julian said something. Louise nodded and he slid off his chair and ran out of the room.

  “His favorite show is on TV,” she explained as the high-pitched chatter of a cartoon started. A door closed, and the sound was muffled.

  “The kids have televisions in their rooms. A present from Milo.”

  For the first time, Embla saw tears in Lollo’s eyes. Maybe the initial shock was wearing off.

  “What did Kador say to you about the situation?” Göran repeated.

  With the back of her hand, Louise wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Milo contacted Kador when Luca and the doorman got shot. He called several times. Then Kador told me we weren’t safe either, that we needed to establish a security system.”

  She got up, went over to the counter, and tore off a piece of paper towel. She dried her eyes, blew her nose, threw the paper away, and tore off a fresh piece, unconsciously balling it up in her hand as she returned to the table.

  “So you and the children were in danger four years ago?”

  Louise shrugged. “I don’t know, but I guess Kador and Milo thought so.”

  Göran gave Embla a quick sideways glance. It was hard to interpret, but she assumed he wanted her to listen carefully to decide if Louise was telling the truth.

  “Tell me about this security system.”

  For the first time Louise looked at him steadily, the tears in her eyes sparkling along with the sapphires she was wearing. “Everyone needed to be on alert so that we could react fast if something happened.”

  “So you were a part of this system, too?”

  “I had to be because of the children. I was still at home with Julian and Adam and was about to go back to work at the hotel, but then Kador decided I should stay home. We’ve always had a nanny, but the girl we had at the time couldn’t drive. I had to take Miranda to school and pick her up, and if the children were seeing friends, I gave them a ride, too.”

  She paused to catch her breath and take a sip of coffee.

  “So you and the nanny were responsible for protecting the family?”

  She put down the cup carefully, her hands still trembling.

  “Not just us. Kador had one of his security guards drive past the house once an hour, around the clock. Then he came up with the idea of the blue butterfly.”

  “The blue butterfly?”

  A faint smile passed across Louise’s face. “It’s an emoji, but ‘my little blue butterfly’ was his nickname for me. We were to send each other that emoji at exactly midnight every night, and if we didn’t get a butterfly in return, we had to get ready to . . . run.”

  Her voice almost gave way on the last word.

  Embla and Göran exchanged a glance. It seemed like a very simple device.

  “And did it work?”

  “Yes. Until the evening when he . . .”

  She couldn’t quite suppress a sob. She paused and drank a little more coffee, then she picked up the sandwich and took a small bite.

  Göran let her finish, then said, “Tell us about the evening when Kador disappeared.”

  Louise nodded and took a deep breath. “It was a month ago. He was due to sign a contract on the sale of a bar the following day. The buyer was an Englishman who had a flight to catch, so they’d arranged to meet at seven in the morning. Kador had promised to be home early—before eleven, he said. But he didn’t come. I was worried and sent the blue butterfly at midnight. Nothing came back, so I sent another. Still nothing. Then I knew, so I called Milo.”

  “What did he say?”

  “As the crow flies. That was our code. I knew exactly what to do because Kador and I had gone over it. Everything was ready; I always kept two suitcases packed with clothes and essentials for me and the kids.”

  “Did you have fake passports?”

  The question clearly took her by surprise. She pursed her lips before replying in the affirmative.

  “Did you drive the car?”

  The tension around her mouth eased, and she gazed into his eyes. “No. We took a cab.”

  The first lie they could be sure of. Göran and Embla knew that the neighbor who’d seen them leave had said they were picked up by a big black c
ar, not a cab.

  “Where did you go?”

  “To an airport.”

  “Which one?”

  “I’ve no idea. The children and I were asleep.”

  Another lie. Nobody arrives at an airport, checks in, and goes through security without knowing where they are. Embla was getting irritated.

  “So you flew to Sweden?” Göran continued.

  “Yes. To Landvetter.”

  Hardly. Every passenger list for incoming flights during the relevant period had been meticulously checked. A woman with three children the same age as hers had not been found. Lie number three.

  “Did you travel under the name Leko?”

  She hesitated. “No, we changed our identity again when we got here.”

  “So what name did you use for the flight?”

  She looked wary. Her eyes were her best feature, but they also gave her away.

  “I . . . I don’t remember.”

  Nonsense. The reason why she was lying was obvious; she didn’t want to give away the methods Milo and his gang used for human trafficking.

  Embla knew that Göran must be thinking the same thing, but he kept his tone neutral.

  “When did you arrive in Gothenburg? Or rather Alingsås.”

  This time the answer came without hesitation.

  “Four weeks ago.”

  Which confirmed that Louise and the children had been in Sweden when she called Embla on that Friday evening and called her Åsa.

  Embla became aware of voices outside the door. She could hear two children, as well as Irene’s calm voice. She realized that whatever Irene said, she wouldn’t be able to explain why a strange woman had parked herself outside their door; according to Louise, they understood only odd words in Swedish.

  Embla quickly interjected, “Sorry, but I think the children are home.”

  Louise gave a start. “Don’t tell them Kador’s dead! Say you’re here to inform me that he hasn’t been found yet. Please! They won’t be able to handle it. Leaving Croatia, a new language, a new school, new . . . everything. And we can’t go to their father’s funeral—we’d be killed, too,” she said, sheer panic in her eyes.

  Göran nodded.

  The sound of a key in the door put an end to the conversation. Julian was still watching television in his room; judging by all the swish-swosh and boooms, there seemed to be an intergalactic war going on. The two older children took off their coats and shoes in the hallway, chattering the whole time. They appeared in the kitchen doorway together and stopped dead, confused by the sight of two strangers. They fired off a series of questions at their mother. She pointed to Embla and Göran in turn, her voice calm and reassuring. It was clear from the children’s expressions that they’d taken in her explanation that their father hadn’t yet been found; they were upset, but there was also an element of relief.

  Miranda was prettier in person than in the Christmas photo. She had her father’s features and coloring. Adam was also an attractive child. He had Kador’s dark hair, but his mother’s curls. And little Julian was more like Lollo. She had three lovely children; it was perfectly understandable that she was worried about them and was prepared to do anything to keep them safe, much like the millions of parents around the world seeking refuge.

  Miranda stepped into the kitchen and nodded stiffly to the two police officers. “How do you do?” she said politely; her English was good.

  “Fine, thank you,” Göran replied.

  “Hi,” Embla said with a smile.

  Adam went and stood next to Louise. When she gave him a gentle nudge, he mumbled hi.

  Louise said something, and the children made themselves a cup of chocolate milk and a sandwich, then disappeared into their bedrooms.

  “Great kids,” Göran said.

  “Yes. They’re my life,” Louise said proudly.

  The children. Embla was struck by a thought. Presumably Lollo would inherit Kador’s personal effects and money—but what about Milo’s and Luca’s estates? Neither of them had children. There were cousins, Jiri and Andreas Acika, for example, but in Sweden cousins don’t inherit when there are closer relatives. As far as she could work out, Kador’s three children were the heirs to the Stavic brothers’ empire of hotels, restaurants, bars, casinos, properties, and goodness knows what else. Then there was the dark side of their business: human trafficking, prostitution, money laundering, arms and drugs smuggling, plus more lucrative crimes, like murder and extortion.

  Who would take over now that all three brothers were dead? In most criminal organizations one or more individuals are primed to step in if the leader is seriously injured or killed. Presumably the Stavic brothers had designated one another as their successors, but what now? Kador’s children were too young to be seen as an option. It would be at least ten years before Adam had a chance to claim his inheritance, if then. What was going to happen in the meantime? Embla realized there was a serious risk of a gang war. Or were they already in the middle of that war?

  “Let’s go back to where we were. So you arrived in Gothenburg a month ago—did you come straight to Alingsås?” Göran asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “Milo drove us.”

  True. That fit with the DNA found in the Audi.

  “Was this apartment ready and waiting for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you buy it?”

  “We didn’t—Milo did.”

  “When?”

  Louise thought for a moment. “It must have been two years ago.”

  “So he bought this large apartment, had it decorated and furnished, then left it standing empty for two years?”

  “Yes, but he sent brochures so I could pick out what I wanted, then he ordered everything.”

  So no one had actually walked into a store to choose the contents of this apartment.

  “Why did he go for this particular place?”

  Louise took a sip of her coffee and another small bite of her sandwich before she answered. “There are good schools nearby—preschool, junior high, and a high school. There are plenty of stores, a medical center, and a hospital. You don’t have to go into Gothenburg for anything if you don’t want to. And it’s a big apartment—six rooms on two floors.” She spread her arms wide, gesturing toward the window with its fantastic view of the city lights.

  “I understand that this meets your family’s needs, but did something in particular happen two years ago to make Milo and his brothers step up their security arrangements? And buy this apartment?” Göran asked.

  Louise bit her lower lip as she considered her response and ended up with pink lipstick on her front teeth.

  “Things . . . were difficult. In Croatia.”

  “Go on.”

  She looked away and swallowed hard. “A guy who worked in one of our bars was murdered. Shot dead. A bomb went off in one of our restaurants in the middle of the night. No one was killed, but some of the people who lived in the building were injured. And I know both Kador and Milo received threats. They were angry and worried things were going to get worse.”

  “Who was behind all this?”

  Once again she hesitated. “They never mentioned a name, but there was a guy who wanted to take over Kador and Milo’s business empire—by terrorizing us.”

  “Do you know where this guy came from?”

  Another long pause.

  “Zagreb, I think.”

  There it was again. The body recovered from the Göta River a month after the shooting incident involving Luca and his friend the doorman had been identified as Damian Pacic´, a known criminal who’d worked for a major gangster in Zagreb. That was more or less all they’d managed to find out; it had proved impossible to trace him back any further than five years. His true identity remained a mystery.r />
  “So the threat from Zagreb led to Kador and Milo preparing an escape route to Sweden for your whole family,” Göran clarified.

  “Yes. Kador still had his Swedish citizenship.”

  “But it’s been four years since Luca and the doorman at La Dolce Vita were shot. You’re talking about two years ago—were things quiet until then?”

  “Not really, but I didn’t pay much attention to what was going on—I had my hands full with the house and the kids.”

  Could that really be true? If your husband and his brothers are feuding with another gangster, with violence as an inevitable consequence of that feud, how can you not know the other guy’s name? It sounded unconvincing, but then again Embla knew that with some mafia families, the man is in charge, while the woman takes care of the home and the children. She might know a lot about her husband’s activities, but she pretends not to. If he ends up in jail, there has to be someone on the outside while he’s serving his sentence. These loyal wives always maintain that their husbands are innocent and never tell the cops anything. That’s the role a mafia wife takes on.

  Lollo was a good gangster wife, Embla realized. She would never tell the truth about the gang war that had led to the brothers’ deaths. However, they did have Milo and Luca’s killer, Jiri Acika, in custody. Fortunately his name hadn’t yet been leaked to the media.

  An impulse made Embla lean across the table and ask her first question. “What do you know about Jiri Acika?”

  The effect was as powerful as if she’d slapped her childhood friend across the face. Louise let out a gasp and her eyes opened wide. She clearly hadn’t expected them to know anything about Jiri.

  “Jiri . . . Why?”

  Then she fell silent and stared down at her coffee.

  Why the strong reaction? Embla wondered.

  Göran looked searchingly at Louise, but when she didn’t say anything, he stepped in. “How well do you know Jiri Acika?”

  She took a deep breath and looked up at him, eyelashes quivering. When she spoke her voice was weak. “He and Kador are cousins. He lives in Split, too.”

  “Do you know him well?” Göran wasn’t giving up.

  A slight shrug. “Not really.”