Snowdrift

by Helene Tursten

  A possible way to solve the murders had opened up: the Acika brothers. Not only Jiri, but super-smooth Andreas.

  However, it was going to take lengthy interviews, surveillance, and cooperation with the police in Croatia. There was no rush; the important thing was to nail as many people as possible who were involved in the tangled mess. The dream scenario would be to shut down the entire organization the brothers had built, but that was an unlikely outcome. The cracks in the network were probably already being sealed. Lawyers and board members in the various companies would make it as difficult as possible for prosecutors to work out what was normal business practice and what was criminal activity. The statute of limitations for economic crimes is relatively short, so prosecutors often don’t have enough time to investigate complex issues. Embla was glad she wasn’t involved in that part of the case.

  “What about Louise and the kids? Do you think they’re safe in Alingsås?” she asked.

  “Yes. I’ve spoken to Maina Sahlén in Witness Protection, and she thinks their new identities are good. Milo didn’t half-ass anything. We’re not putting their location in writing, not even the fact that they’re in Sweden.”

  A weight lifted from Embla’s heart. It felt good to know that Lollo’s family was no longer in danger, even though the woman she’d met yesterday wasn’t the person she’d known when she was growing up. To be fair, Lollo had been in shock after learning of Kador’s death.

  A discreet glance at the clock above Göran’s head told her it was exactly four o’clock.

  “I’ve arranged to leave early today, so I’m going home now,” she said, doing her best to sound casual.

  “Home? You’re not heading up to Dalsland, then?” he said with a teasing smile.

  Shit! He knew her too well.

  “Well, yes, actually. I’m going to Nisse’s, then I’m going to Herremark to see Monika and Harald.”

  She couldn’t help blushing, but it was the truth. She might have left out one or two details, but that was her business.

  For the first few kilometers there was no sign of snow. The low afternoon sun shone out of an almost cloudless sky, dazzling her with its reflection on the surface of the damp road. For the first time that year there was a hint of spring in the air, and huge flocks of Canada geese grazed on the open fields of the Dalsland plain, picking up everything edible that they could find.

  As agreed Embla drove past the turnoff for Uncle Nisse’s place—she would visit on the way home—and continued toward Herremark and the guesthouse. The midday thaw had reduced the depth of the snow on the ground, but there were still a few centimeters left. The beauty of the scene took her breath away as the last of the sun’s rays colored the snow among the trees pale pink and the underside of the few clouds bright cerise. As the sun went down, the pink shifted into shades of blue. The car’s thermometer showed that the temperature was dropping fast; no doubt it would be below freezing overnight.

  She turned into the guesthouse yard and parked. The little Kia was a good, reliable car. She gave the dashboard an appreciative pat before she got out.

  Nothing had changed. Harald was at the reception desk entering something into the computer. His face lit up as soon as he saw her.

  “Embla! Welcome!” He hurried around the desk and gave her a great big bear hug. “It’s so good to have you here again.”

  He laughed and went back behind the desk. He put on his reading glasses, which he wore on a cord around his neck, and peered at the screen. “Let’s see . . . Your boyfriend and his dog have already arrived—number fifteen. Dinner in half an hour—Monika’s reserved a table for you. The same one as last time,” he added with a meaningful wink.

  Boyfriend, indeed. However, she didn’t protest; she simply smiled and took the key. After all, she and Olle had only booked one cottage.

  The twilight was deepening as she made her way across the yard. She couldn’t see any light from inside the cottage; was this the right one? Yes, it said 15 on the door. She looked around. There were lights on in several of the other cottages, but the two closest to theirs were also dark. She’d chosen the best spot, right by the lake. No neighbors in front or to the sides. Peace and quiet.

  She smiled as she went up to the door and put her bag down on the step. She was about to insert her key in the lock when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. A second later she was on the ground.

  “Tore! Stop that!” Olle called, sounding amused.

  She couldn’t analyze him too closely because Tore was standing over her, licking her face.

  “Yuck!” she said, wiping away the saliva with the sleeve of her jacket. Tore scampered back to his master.

  “Sorry—he beat me to it!” Olle said with a laugh. Keeping a firm grip on Tore’s collar, he held out his other hand and helped her up. “Are you okay?” he asked with a hint of anxiety.

  “I’m fine, apart from my self-esteem; my reflexes aren’t what they should be!”

  She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. He was even better looking than she remembered, and she realized he was still holding her hand. He gave her a hug that was more than a friendly hug. And the kiss that followed was more than a friendly kiss. A lot more. A wonderful warm feeling surged through her body. Reluctantly she freed herself from his embrace and unlocked the door. They went in and took off their outdoor clothes. Olle switched on the light in the living room and had a good look around.

  “This is bigger than the one where we found Milo Stavic,” he said.

  “It is. Two bedrooms, slightly larger living room, and it’s the only cottage with a sauna and jacuzzi.”

  She didn’t mention that it was usually known as the bridal suite.

  “And look at the view over the lake—fantastic!”

  Olle was clearly delighted. Tore seemed happy, too, having sniffed his way around every single millimeter.

  Olle produced a bottle of Champagne from a cooler and managed to find two suitable glasses in one of the kitchen cupboards. Embla decided she could allow herself a glass of bubbly; she felt as if they had a lot to celebrate. When Olle popped the cork, Tore stiffened. Maybe he wasn’t entirely over the events up at Ulvsjön.

  “Harald said dinner will be served in”—she glanced at her phone—“fifteen minutes.”

  “In that case we’d better drink fast!”

  His eyes sparkled as he raised his glass to her. It took a second for her to realize they were sparkling with tears, and she could hear the emotion in his voice when he added:

  “Thank you for saving me and Tore.”

  “Oh, come on—we both played our part.”

  “We did, but without your knowledge of guns and the fact that you stayed calm under pressure, we’d have been dead meat.”

  Without me you wouldn’t have been up there in the first place.

  Olle cleared his throat and smiled shyly. “Here’s to you.”

  They sipped the cold, delicious drink. Their eyes met, and now it was Embla’s turn to smile and propose a toast of her own. “Here’s to us!”

  The warmth in Olle’s eyes could have melted a glacier in seconds. “To us!” he echoed.

  Embla moved closer to him and touched his sweater. Slowly she slid her hand up to his cheek, cupped it gently, and drew his face down to hers. With her lips almost touching his, she whispered, “I booked this cottage because I thought Tore would need his own bedroom.”

  It’s quarter past two and I can’t sleep. It’s dark and so fucking quiet everywhere. The silence . . . It’s driving me crazy! My head is spinning. Maybe I’ve had a little too much to drink . . . I need someone to talk to, but there’s no one . . . That’s why I’m recording this. Then I’ll delete the recording. I could have died when Julian opened the door and Åsa—no, it’s Embla now—was standing there with that detective. Shit! I was really shaken up by the fact that they�
�d found me—Milo had promised the plan was watertight. No one would be able to track us down, he said. For fuck’s sake—it only took the cops a month. How did they do it? At least they promised that nothing would be put in writing about me and the kids. Our new identities mustn’t get out. And now we’re under police protection . . . Ha! What a joke! If only they knew! Actually I thought I did pretty well, pretending to be grief-stricken over that asshole Kador. I certainly won’t miss the little shit. Nor Milo. He might have been there for our family, but he was always all over me when he’d had a few drinks. Wanted me to “play nice.” Fucking pig! No risk of anything like that with Luca, of course, but I hardly ever saw him. Anyway, I managed to hide my shock when Embla and the other cop turned up, then I pretended to be grief-stricken when they told me my husband was dead. I had another shock when they asked me about Jiri . . . How the fuck do they know about him? And do they know anything about the two of us? It’s fortunate that he and Kador are cousins; you always come into contact with relatives whether you want to or not. That’s what I’ll say if they ask me any more questions. Although I’ve got a bad feeling . . . I read something in the papers about a gang war up in Dalsland, and it was on the news, too. Four Croatians killed, two Swedes injured. They said a man had been arrested for the murders of Milo and Luca, but they didn’t give his nationality. There was a lot of other stuff about smuggling guns and drugs, but Jiri talked about a big deal going down out in the middle of nowhere—Croatians, a Swede, and some Norwegian gang were involved. I’m beginning to worry that this was the deal he meant. He knew Milo was spending the night at a place with a really good restaurant, and he knew the name of the place because Milo had been there before and talked about it. Jiri was going to fix him. And he did. And he fixed Luca, too . . . Mikael will reward Jiri. He knows nothing about me and Jiri; he wouldn’t like it if he found out. Jiri’s going to fix Gabriela, too—sour-faced whining bitch. They’ll have to get a divorce, though—killing her would be too risky, even if that’s what I’d prefer.

  My darling Jiri was heading back to Split as soon as he’d fixed Milo and Luca—a quick in-and-out job, as he put it. Did he manage to get away? There was a blizzard . . . Did he stay in Dalsland? Please, God, don’t let him be dead! Please let him be safe in Split! I can’t find any concrete information about what’s happening. They’re not giving any names online . . . What will I do if Jiri’s dead? What if he’s the one they’ve arrested for the murders of Milo and Luca? Can they link him to Kador’s murder? I hope not—Croatian prisons are awful.

  I’m intending to stay here for six months, then go back. Jiri and I have agreed that we won’t contact each other during that period. I hope by the time I get back his divorce will have gone through. Or if he is the one who’s been arrested and he ends up in jail in Sweden, I’ll wait for him.

  I won’t dare see Embla again. I’d really like to—I’ve missed her so much, especially in those first few years. We always had so much fun together. But she’s a cop—I must never forget that. She sat in my kitchen sipping water, the hypocritical bitch, just waiting to see if I’d start babbling. I know I drank quite a lot of wine. That wasn’t smart, but all those . . . shocks were too much for me. Oh—my other cell phone’s ringing. Shit, where did I put it? There it is!

  If you listened carefully, you could hear another phone ringing in the background, before the recording ended. Embla stared at the phone lying in the middle of Göran’s desk. She realized she wasn’t breathing and was beginning to feel faint. With a huge effort she took in a shuddering breath. It couldn’t be true, but deep down she knew she’d just heard Lollo’s own words and feelings. Her old friend might have been slurring her words, but this was no drunken ramble, it was an honest admission that she loved Jiri and had hated Kador. She hadn’t said so, but there was a strong possibility that she could have been involved in her husband’s murder. If so, she was the one who’d tipped off Jiri, told him that Kador was going home alone at an earlier time than usual the night he disappeared.

  She’d thought Embla was a hypocrite, and yet she’d said she missed her. It was loneliness, alcohol, and maybe some other drug that had made her call Embla that Friday evening.

  Göran was looking at her, and Embla could see sympathy in his eyes.

  “We found the phone when we searched the apartment on Saturday. It had slipped down between the cushions on the sofa; presumably she dropped it and then forgot about it.”

  There was a long pause before Embla managed to force out the question that was burning inside her.

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “No. No sign of a struggle. The wine glass and the empty bottle had been left on the coffee table, but there was no IT equipment—only this burner phone. And there were no ID documents in the name of Leko or any other name. The bowl containing the little packets was still in the kitchen cupboard; we tested the powder, and it is cocaine. The new Audi is still in the parking lot.”

  Embla took another deep breath.

  “No trace of any of them?”

  Slowly he shook his head. “No. Both Louise and the children are gone. Vanished without a trace.”

  “Do you know when they went missing?”

  “Early on Saturday morning, we think. Irene and Fredrik went to the office and spoke to her during her lunch break on Friday. She didn’t have time to see them after work, because she had to go and pick up Julian, then give the children a ride to their swimming lessons. Apparently the mothers take turns driving, and it was her turn. She promised to come into the station for questioning at eleven o’clock on Saturday, but she didn’t show up. We entered the apartment in the afternoon to find them gone.”

  She could feel the scalding tears behind her eyelids. She swallowed hard several times, but she couldn’t make a sound. It had been such a huge relief to know that Lollo was alive, and that her disappearance hadn’t been Embla’s fault.

  After listening to the recording, her feelings were mixed to say the least. A little time passed before she became aware of the empty space that had opened up inside her. She recognized it only too well, and she knew why it was there.

  She had lost Lollo again.

  Acknowledgments

  Firstly I want to give a special thank-you to my Swedish publisher, Erika Degard, and my editor, Sofia Hannar, for all their help and support while I’ve been working on this book. A big thank-you to everyone at Massolit for their brilliant efforts and achievements.

  The characters in my books are always fictitious. All resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental and not the intention of the author. As usual I have taken considerable liberties with geographical facts. I do not adapt my narrative to suit the existing geography; reality is adapted to fit the story instead.

  Helene Tursten