Protected by the Shadows

by Helene Tursten

  “So Kazan and Fendi were acting on behalf of the Gangster Lions?”

  “Not really . . . I think the little guys were planning on going solo. When I asked Kazan why the Gangster Lions needed to buy from Gothia MC, he told me he wasn’t buying for the Lions, but was posing as a Latin King to Karlsson. He insisted he hadn’t gone over to the Kings, and boasted that he didn’t belong to anyone.”

  “So he claimed there was an indirect threat from the Gangster Lions too? In that case he needed all the protection he could get!”

  A nurse came in with a tray. She chirruped a bright “Good morning!” and wanted to know whether Irene would prefer tea or coffee. And of course Irene’s visitor was also welcome to a cup, she added when she saw Tommy’s tired face.

  “Have your breakfast in peace,” he said when Irene had been provided with coffee and two cheese rolls. “I’ll just sit back.”

  She ate greedily, and gulped down the coffee as fast as she could without scalding her mouth. After a top-up she was starting to feel more like herself, apart from the dull ache at the back of her head.

  “Kazan said something else: the leaders of Gothia MC and the Gangster Lions are having some kind of meeting on Thursday to discuss the escalation of the gang war. Apparently it’s disrupting their business—that’s the way he put it.”

  “Are they indeed? Any idea where they’re meeting?” Tommy said, looking very interested.

  “He talked about a restaurant called Pravda; it’s supposed to be in Gårda.”

  Tommy thought for a moment, then said hesitantly, “I think there used to be a place with that name . . . but if it’s the one I’m thinking of, it closed down long ago. That area is due for demolition. I’ll check it out.”

  “He said it all goes bang on the twenty-fifth.”

  “The twenty-fifth as in this Thursday?”

  “Exactly. It reminded me of the Magnus Uggla song.” She began to hum the melody of “King for a Day.”

  “Yes, I remember it; one of those terrible summer hits. But is that what he meant?”

  “I have no idea; it just reminded me of the lyrics.”

  “Hmm. Maybe he just wanted to stress the importance of the meeting. Make himself sound a bit more interesting,” Tommy mused.

  “Maybe.”

  Somewhere deep inside Irene’s pounding head, a little voice protested, but she couldn’t quite make out what it was trying to say. Perhaps it was just her shaken brain, sloshing around as it tried to find its way back to normality. Or perhaps it wasn’t. Her colleagues would have to sort things out for themselves; today she was going to rest, and forget all about biker gangs and their violent way of life.

  Irene was discharged, and Tommy drove her back to his house in an unmarked car. When he got back to the station he would tell everyone that she was recuperating with a close friend. If anyone tried to find out more details, he would be keeping a close eye on them. They still didn’t know who was leaking information to Gothia MC.

  The house was cool and quiet. The sky was beginning to cloud over, and the weather forecast had warned of rain in the afternoon. Irene tried to read the newspaper, but found it hard to concentrate. Kazan’s death dominated the front page of Göteborgs Posten: brutal hospital murder! screamed the headline, with the sub-heading victim known to the police.

  Irene forced herself to go through the article. The killers had walked in during evening visiting hours, when most of the staff were taking a well-earned coffee break. The two men arrived separately, a few minutes apart. The murder was described as well-planned and cold-blooded. The first man had slipped into a cardiac patient’s room and pulled out all the tubes connecting him to a monitor and his oxygen supply, which automatically set off the alarm. The patient was an elderly man who was asleep at the time; all he remembered was the back view of someone dressed in black as they went out the door. The staff came running, but none of them had seen anyone in the hall. Presumably the killers had hidden in the examination room where Irene later ended up. When there was no one around, the two men entered Kazan’s room. Irene’s presence was presumably an unforeseen complication, but it didn’t stop them from carrying out their plan. She had been facing away from the door, so hadn’t seen either man. Kazan was shot in the head, twice. It was assumed that a silencer had been used. A nurse in the cardiac patient’s room thought she heard two muted bangs, and looked out into the hallway. She caught a glimpse of the men as they emerged and saw they were wearing jeans and black hoodies, but she was unable to provide any further detail. The police were currently going through the hospital’s CCTV footage.

  A white Volvo C30 was of interest; it was seen leaving the hospital parking lot at high speed, almost colliding with an ambulance as it turned onto the main road. The paramedics saw two men in dark clothing in the front seats and described them as quite tall, aged twenty to thirty, with baseball caps pulled down low over their foreheads. One was shorter and stockier than the other. The car had been stolen during the afternoon from the parking lot at the Allum mall in Partille. The police wanted to hear about any sightings of the car or the two men; a number for the public to call if they had any information was given at the end of the article.

  Let’s hope something useful comes in, Irene thought before she fell asleep on the sofa with the newspaper on her lap.

  Irene was woken up by the sound of her cell phone. She grabbed it from the coffee table, still half-asleep, and pressed the green button. As she was about to put it to her ear she realized that it wasn’t actually ringing at all; the screen was black. So why could she still hear a ringtone? It took another couple of seconds for her to grasp that it was the pay-as-you-go cell; fortunately it was also on the table.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Krister’s voice said before she could speak.

  “Hi, yourself,” she croaked in a weak voice. A glance at her watch told her it was quarter past twelve.

  “Have you caught a cold?”

  Irene cleared her throat before answering. “No, I just woke up. I was . . . working last night.”

  She didn’t want to worry Krister and the girls; there was no need to tell them what had happened over the past twenty-four hours.

  “Glad to hear you’re resting up, in that case. I just wanted to check that you’re okay, and to tell you that we’re all missing you. And I love you.”

  “I miss you too, so much. And I love you!”

  That goddamn lump in her throat was back. She really wanted to sob down the phone and tell him what a hard time she was having. Although she was actually feeling a little better, come to think of it. The ache at the back of her head was beginning to ease.

  “We’re off on our travels again, so you won’t be able to reach us before Friday evening at the earliest,” Krister went on.

  “No problem.”

  Given the situation it really was for the best, but emotionally the thought of not having any contact with her family for almost four days was devastating. She gritted her teeth, determined not to give away how she was feeling. However, that lump refused to disappear.

  “The girls and Felipe send hugs and kisses. And Egon, of course. And me.”

  “Hugs and kisses to everyone,” Irene said, trying to sound bright and cheerful.

  The tears came as soon as she ended the call.

  The next time Irene’s cell phone woke her, she was lying in bed; it took a little while to register that she was in Tommy’s guest room. A fine drizzle was falling outside the window, and it felt a little damp indoors too. This time the sound of “Mercy” echoed through the room, so it was definitely her usual cell. The display showed a name she recognized.

  “Hi, Hannu.”

  “Hi. How are you feeling?”

  “Better, thanks.”

  Hannu Rauhala wouldn’t call to make small talk; she knew he would get straight to the point.

  “Y
ou asked me to take a closer look at a couple of things.”

  “I did.”

  “I think I’ve found something, but I just need to check one or two points.”

  Irene could feel the tension rising; she was wide awake now. “What’s it about?”

  “Unexpected connections,” Hannu replied after a brief silence. He wasn’t the kind of man to waste words, and sometimes he drove Irene crazy. Like now, for example. As if he sensed her frustration, he continued.

  “I’m almost certain, but I need to be a hundred percent sure before we move on this. Are you coming in tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely,” Irene said, sounding more convinced than she felt.

  “Morning prayer is at eight; can you meet me at seven-thirty?”

  “Sure. You can’t tell me anything now?”

  “No, it’s better this way. In case I’m on the wrong track,” he said firmly.

  You’re not, because if you were you wouldn’t have called me. But you want to make sure it’s a belt and braces job, Irene thought. It was probably a sensible idea, given the incendiary nature of what he had probably found out.

  “See you in my office at seven-thirty,” Hannu confirmed. “Take care.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Irene said with a sigh.

  Could the guy be any more annoying? Nobody could keep their mouth shut like Hannu, but that was exactly why she had chosen him to confide in. She looked at her watch; almost five-thirty. Exactly twenty-four hours ago she had walked into the hospital. It felt like a lifetime.

  When Tommy got home Irene was lying on the sofa watching an episode of Midsomer Murders that she had seen at least twice before. It wasn’t the razor-sharp plots that appealed to her, but the glorious setting. The residents of the small villages lived in picturesque old houses, surrounded by leafy, beautifully kept gardens. Some member of the nobility was often embroiled in the mystery, and terrible crimes were committed behind the idyllic façades. There really were a hell of a lot of murders. Apart from that slight inconvenience, Irene liked the idea of cruising around in a shiny Jag and chatting to people without running the risk of being hit on the head with a pistol. Instead the friendly villagers offered DCI Barnaby tea and scones with homemade jam. Right now that seemed like a dream scenario.

  One glance at Tommy’s face told her that Midsomer was definitely a better bet. Okay, so nobody had actually hit him over the head, but he looked as if he were about to collapse.

  “Hi. There’s pizza in the kitchen, and these are the tablets you asked me to get,” he said without any spark of enthusiasm.

  A tube of Alvedon rolled across the table. Tommy threw himself into his favorite armchair. He closed his eyes, tipped back his head and gave the distinct impression that he was about to go to sleep.

  “I’m feeling much better, thanks for asking. The lump on my head has gone down a little, but it hurts like hell if I bump it on anything. The headache has gone though, so things are definitely improving. Thank you for getting the tablets anyway,” Irene said.

  Tommy didn’t open his eyes. “Good, that means you can come into work tomorrow. God knows we need you. This is the worst situation I’ve known in all my years of service!” He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  “And you want to bring a poor sick person with a severe concussion into the middle of this chaos?” Irene said reproachfully, tilting her head to one side and smiling. She always used to be able to cheer him up by teasing him, but it didn’t seem to be having the desired effect now.

  He merely gave her a weary glance and said, “After a day like today, you’re probably in better shape than the rest of us.”

  “So it’s been one of those days.”

  “It sure has.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Okay, but can we eat at the same time? I’m starving.”

  He hauled himself out of the chair and headed for the kitchen. Irene was hungry too; she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast at the hospital. She got up cautiously and padded after him. The pizza boxes were on the counter, and Tommy was peering into the refrigerator.

  “There’s only one beer,” he informed her.

  “No problem. I’m happy with water.”

  Irene found a jug, added ice cubes, then filled it up with cold water. Both of them were perfectly comfortable eating pizza straight from the box, but Tommy set out glasses and cutlery. As they were about to sit down, his next door neighbor went by just outside the kitchen window. The woman turned her head and glanced in. The blinds were pulled down, but both Irene and Tommy had forgotten to angle them so that no one could see in. The neighbor obviously noticed that Tommy had female company, because she quickly looked away, as if nothing had happened.

  “Let’s eat in front of the TV,” Tommy suggested.

  They went back to the living room; the windows faced onto the garden, and the overgrown lilac hedge meant that no one could see in. They tucked in with a healthy appetite, and by the time Tommy had demolished three quarters of his pizza, he had recovered sufficiently to tell Irene about his day.

  “We held a press conference at ten; there wasn’t much to say, except that two unknown men had shot Kazan Ekici and assaulted a police officer who was in the room with him. We also released the information about the drug bust at Kazan’s house, and implied that we thought his death was linked to the cocaine we found. Needless to say we didn’t mention that Kazan and Fendi had bought it from Patrik Karlsson, nor did we give any details of the quantity involved. It would be dumb to tell Gothia MC that we know they killed Gonzales and Angelo on board their yacht.”

  He paused and finished off his can of beer, then sighed demonstratively and poured himself a glass of iced water.

  “After that the day was just crazy. Patrik Karlsson, Jan-Erik Månsson, Danny Mara and Kazan Ekici have all been killed within the past ten days. We just don’t have the resources to deal with this kind of thing, and then there’s the new link to the double murder outside Varberg. At least Interpol, Narcotics and the Halland force are taking care of that one.”

  Irene raised her glass to him. “Right now I’m dreaming of a transfer to Midsomer. People are dying right, left and center there too, but they do it an orderly manner. And the cops drive around in luxury cars, spending lots of time in cozy pubs,” she said.

  A tired smile flitted across Tommy’s face. “We’ve tried to impose some kind of order on this mess. We’ve interviewed everyone who was at the hospital, particularly in the cardiac unit when Kazan was shot. The perps were seen by several people, but no one was able to provide a good description.”

  “CCTV?”

  Tommy nodded. “We found footage of both men. They entered the building at 6:02 and left at 6:17, so the whole thing took no more than fifteen minutes; they were well prepared. Unfortunately there’s no chance of identifying them. They were wearing jeans and hoodies with no logos. The one who went in first was powerfully built; he was responsible for disconnecting the cardiac patient’s oxygen supply and the cables leading to the monitor.”

  Irene put down her glass with a bang. “Hang on. How did they know exactly where Kazan was? I only found out when I went to the intensive cardiac care unit, and they sent me to the right place. And yet these two guys seem to have gone straight to the right unit and the right room.”

  Tommy stared down at the remaining slice of pizza for a long time. Suddenly he took a deep breath and turned to face Irene. For a second something glinted in his eyes; it could have been fear, but she wasn’t sure. He looked away and addressed the pizza.

  “I got a call from the hospital informing me that he’d been moved. I was given all the details, including the room number. Unfortunately I didn’t get around to calling you until almost half an hour later. Stefan Bratt contacted me in the meantime; he’d heard about the drugs raid at Kazan’s house, and he was pretty pissed because he hadn’t been kept in the loop.
It’s a sensitive issue, given that we’re supposed to be running this investigation together. A point he underlined several times.”

  “But it was because of the leak—” Irene began.

  Tommy waved an impatient hand. “I know. I was the one who told you to follow your judgment, and that’s exactly what I explained to Stefan. Then I immediately gave him everything I knew about the raid; I also told him that Kazan had been moved out of intensive care. He took the details of the new unit and the room number; we talked about putting a guard outside his door, not for Kazan’s safety but because of the risk that he might take off. As he was in such poor shape we decided to wait; we thought the chances of him disappearing were negligible. By the time I called you, you were already at the hospital and you’d . . .”

  “. . . switched off my cell phone,” Irene finished the sentence.

  “Precisely.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Just after five-thirty.”

  Which was exactly when she had read the notice by the main doors and switched off her cell. She had gone up to intensive care, been redirected, then spent a few minutes with Dr. Enkvist. She had probably been in the hospital for half an hour or so before she actually saw Kazan.

  “Tommy, did you tell anyone else that Kazan had been moved?”

  “Nope. And I asked Stefan if he was alone before I passed on the information, and he assured me he was.”

  “So only you and Bratt knew Kazan’s room number?”

  “Correct.”

  Their eyes met.

  “Oh my God. Stefan Bratt,” Irene whispered.

  Tommy tipped back his head and closed his eyes. With an audible sigh he said, “You can understand why it’s been such a difficult day.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me neither. But there’s no other explanation.”

  Irene nodded. The very idea sent her brain into overdrive: the head of the Organized Crimes Unit was Gothia MC’s informant. Superintendent Stefan Bratt was no ordinary cop; he was responsible for monitoring organized crime within the whole Västra Götaland region.