“So what’s happened to Ann Wennberg?” Irene asked.
“She’s being held in an interview room downstairs, with no cell phone or any other way of communicating with the outside world. The guards have been told not to let her out under any circumstances. They were a little surprised, but didn’t ask any more questions when I said she was a suspect and would shortly be arrested.”
“Will she be charged?”
“Absolutely. And she’s facing a long jail term, plus of course she’ll be kicked out of the force,” he said dryly.
“Why didn’t you say anything during the briefing?”
“We decided to wait a few hours. We’ll know more when she’s been interviewed; at this afternoon’s meeting we’ll tell everyone the informant has been exposed,” he said, looking pleased.
For a second Irene felt sorry for Ann, but then she thought of all the damage she’d caused. The investigation had been sabotaged because the perps were warned in advance. People had died because of the information Ann had passed on to Gothia MC, and it was thanks to her that they had almost managed to grab Irene at the bus depot. No, there was no reason to feel any sympathy with Ann.
“I thought you and I could be the first ones to question her,” Tommy said.
The shiny red hair was as beautifully styled as ever. The eyes were discreetly highlighted with eyeliner and mascara. Not a trace of tears. Nothing in her erect posture suggested any trace of remorse.
Irene and Tommy sat down and began the interview, but Ann answered either in monosyllables or not at all. It took almost half an hour before she started to give slightly more detailed responses. She confirmed what Hannu had discovered about her family circumstances.
“I did what I could as far as Patrik was concerned, but it wasn’t enough. I was too young.”
She sounded as if she were apologizing, and for the first time Irene could see that she was genuinely moved. Patrik was her Achilles’ heel. Irene decided to change tack. Gently she asked, “Why didn’t your older brothers look out for Patrik?”
“That’s exactly the reason: they were older. They left home when he was born,” Ann snapped.
“But you stayed.”
“Yes.”
Ann swallowed and looked away. Patrik must have had a hard time when he was growing up. The adults around him had had more than enough to deal with, coping with their own problems; nobody had paid much attention to him. Apart from his sister, who had done her best.
“I was only thirteen when he was born. He . . . he was so little, and . . .” Ann suddenly let out a sob. Tears poured down her cheeks and she asked for a tissue.
Tommy passed her a box of Kleenex while Irene poured her a glass of water, which she took with shaking hands. They waited while she pulled herself together, then resumed the interview.
“You trained at the police academy in Stockholm, then you worked in Trollhättan for a number of years. Why did you go back there?” Irene asked.
“I met my husband. He was a DI in Trollhättan and knew about my family. I didn’t have to pretend, although in fact there wasn’t a great deal to hide. My dad went down a few times for being drunk and disorderly in a public place, but that’s all. Neither of my older brothers has done anything illegal, apart from speeding and minor tax evasion. They were both convicted and fined. But Patrik was something else. He seemed to be drawn to crime, and we just couldn’t keep him away from it. Particularly once drugs came into the picture.”
Her voice hardened and she blew her nose before continuing.
“He was so sweet when he was a child, the kindest little boy in the world. But things didn’t go too well at school, so he more or less stopped going. Relocating to Göteborg didn’t help; he seemed to thrive when he joined a gang. I suppose it gave him a sense of identity. I moved here to keep any eye on him and my mom, but Patrik was running his own race. All I could do was be around. As you can see, it worked out really well!”
The last sentence was shot through with self-reproach. Ann clearly saw the fact that Patrik had been murdered as a failure on her part. She hadn’t been able to protect him, so she blamed herself for his death. Irene recognized the pattern, which was very common in mothers with sons who had turned to crime and come to a sticky end.
“Was it because of Patrik that you started passing information to Gothia MC?” Tommy asked. His tone was pleasant, but Ann recoiled as if he had slapped her across the face. A red flush spread up her throat and cheeks, and for a moment she seemed completely knocked off balance.
“I . . . yes . . . I . . .”
She fell silent and stared straight ahead, not looking at either of them.
“Ann, when did you start passing information to Patrik’s associates in Gothia MC?” Irene asked.
At first it seemed as if she wasn’t going to answer, but then she murmured almost inaudibly, “After . . . after those bastards killed him. He . . .”
She fell silent, blinking away the tears.
“Gothia MC had never contacted you before?”
“No.”
“Which member of the gang called you?” Tommy wanted to know.
This time she met his gaze, her expression defiant.
“They didn’t call me. I called them.”
“Why?” Irene managed to get the question out, even though she was taken aback by Ann’s response.
“Because I knew that we . . . the police . . . wouldn’t catch the killers. As far as you . . . the police . . . were concerned, Patrik was just a criminal, a member of a biker gang who got what he deserved. But he was my little brother!”
The last sentence came out as a scream. There’s something about her eyes. She doesn’t look well, Irene thought. Was there some kind of mental instability, an additional component in all this? That might at least partly explain Ann’s actions, but it wasn’t something Irene could judge; that was up to the psychiatrists, if they were called in.
“So you’re telling us that you contacted Gothia MC and offered to provide them with information on our investigation, in return for a promise that they would deal with the person or persons who murdered your brother,” Tommy summarized.
Ann nodded.
“Did you get paid for your services?”
“No, revenge was all I asked for. And I got it.”
Ann’s words were accompanied by a cold smile, a particularly unpleasant smile. Irene felt the hairs stand up on her arms and the back of her neck.
Tommy decided to push harder. “Who was your contact in the gang?”
Ann merely shook her head and fixed her eyes on a point over his shoulder. He tried to get her to say more, but she just kept on shaking her head.
“I want a lawyer,” she said eventually.
When Irene switched on her computer she found an email from Matti Berggren. He had found lots of fingerprints from Kazan Ekici and Fendi Göks in the BMW, plus prints from others, but only Kazan and Fendi’s contained traces of gasoline.
Matti had also found bloodstains on the front and backseats; they were small, but enough for DNA testing. The blood was Patrik Karlsson’s. It must have splashed onto their clothes while they were beating him up, then come off on the seats, Irene thought with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was exactly what they needed in order to tie Kazan and Fendi to Patrik’s death.
As she read on, her optimism continued to grow. Matti had discovered traces of cocaine in the trunk that were the same pure quality as in the packages in Kazan’s closet. He had also compared the findings from the BMW with the powdery residue they had secured during Sunday’s raid on Gothia MC: the result was positive. It was the same batch of unusually pure cocaine; the composition in each sample was identical.
This strengthened the credibility of what Kazan had told her, Irene thought. The cocaine came from the murders of Enrico Gonzales and David Angelo, which in turn led t
o Gothia MC and Patrik Karlsson. And then to Kazan and Fendi. We should be able to tie this up before long, she told herself—and she actually believed it.
She was also beginning to hope that they would be able to nail the leaders of Gothia MC for the double homicide in Varberg, which in turn should weaken their organization to such an extent that they would lose interest in trying to extort money from Krister. The police just had to make sure they had cast-iron evidence to prove that Gothia MC was behind the murders and the theft of the cocaine.
The afternoon passed quickly; every available officer was working at full capacity. The interviews with those who had attended the party where Danny Mara was shot had been completed, but the investigation was making no progress. Over a hundred guests, and no one had seen a thing, including the nine cops who had been there. Stefan Bratt had his suspicions about Omid Reza. The bodyguard insisted he had been at the far end of the park when the shots were fired, which was why it took a while before he reached the spot where Danny lay. No one had contradicted his story, so they had had to let him go.
Fendi Göks was still missing. His mother assured them that her son had never done anything like this before; he was the oldest of six siblings, and had taken on the responsibility for the family when his father walked out. Fendi would never abandon his mother and his younger brothers and sisters. Maybe, Irene thought, but he’s still nowhere to be found. And he’s a suspect in the murder of Patrik Karlsson. The crime he and Kazan had committed was horrific. If he’s still alive, I will find him, Irene promised herself.
Tommy Persson and Stefan Bratt were in a meeting with the head of Narcotics, Superintendent Lena Hellström. Also present were Irene and Fredrik. Irene ran through her conversation with Kazan at the hospital one more time, and when she revealed that the cocaine had come from Enrico Gonzales and David Angelo, Lena Hellström raised her eyebrows.
“This is an important lead in the murders of two major dealers. As you say, Irene, the trail takes us from Gonzales and Angelo to Gothia MC. So where’s the cocaine now—besides what we already confiscated from Kazan? We know it’s not hidden at Gothia MC’s HQ,” Tommy began.
“If we’d been kept in the loop we might have found out by now,” Lena said acidly.
She was a tall woman in her sixties, with short, thick steel-grey hair. She wore no makeup apart from bright vermilion lipstick which matched the flamboyant flowers on her blouse. Irene recognized the pattern: Marimekko. Good for interior design, not so good when it came to clothes, in her opinion. Lena clearly didn’t agree; around her neck she wore a statement necklace made up of green wooden tiles that rattled every time she moved her head.
“You couldn’t have done anything different,” Stefan Bratt informed her.
He seemed to have recovered from the morning’s shock, and looked more like his normal pale self.
“We’ve been watching that gang for years,” Lena snapped.
“So have we.”
“But neither of you noticed them shifting the cocaine, or where they hid it,” Tommy stated.
His colleagues looked as if they had swallowed something that tasted extremely bitter, but neither of them spoke.
“Thanks to the powdery residue the CSIs found during the raid,” Tommy continued, “we know the cocaine has been at Gothia MC’s HQ. Does anyone have a theory as to where it might be right now?”
Lena Hellström nodded with such enthusiasm that her necklace sounded like a rattlesnake.
“I know Per Lindström pretty well. He was involved in drug dealing long before he became the leader of Gothia MC. He’s not dumb enough to keep the stuff at home—unlike Kazan Ekici. On the other hand, I don’t think he’d want it too far away. I’m sure it’s hidden somewhere close to Lindström,” she said firmly.
The atmosphere in the room had lightened during the discussion, which Irene found liberating. There was far too much bickering over territory between the different departments, but the Göteborg police probably weren’t the worst of the bunch when it came down to it. Over the years, and thanks to the pressure of a growing workload, they had learned to work together reasonably well.
“I think Lindström was intending to lie low after the double homicide, until the worst had blown over,” Tommy said. “And then Patrik Karlsson was murdered; that was probably the last thing he wanted.”
“Absolutely. Ann Wennberg tipped Lindström off about the raid, and that’s why he moved the cocaine,” Stefan chipped in, and Tommy nodded in agreement.
“In which case that must have happened the day before we showed up,” he said.
They all sat in silence for a few moments, trying to work out what had happened.
Irene suddenly remembered something. “The cleaning,” she said.
“Cleaning?” Lena echoed.
“When we were on our way to raid Gothia MC’s HQ, the first SWAT team vehicle almost collided with an enormous trailer that was in one hell of a hurry to get away. Fredrik recognized the driver as Lindström’s wife. I’m thinking the drugs were in the trailer; that would explain why she seemed so stressed. And they’d cleaned the whole place to within an inch of its life.”
“How do you know?”
“We arrived in the middle of a so-called family day; the place was heaving with people. Everything reeked of Ajax, and was spotless.”
Tommy ran his fingers through his hair; it was obvious that he was thinking something over.
“How much coke did you find on the yacht?” he asked suddenly, directing the question to Lena.
She pursed her shiny vermilion lips before answering. “Exactly twenty-eight pounds, divided into fifty-six packages, which filled the storage compartment completely.”
“So there could have been the same amount in the other compartment, which was the same size. Fifty-six packages . . . that could explain how Patrik managed to squirrel away eight of them without anyone noticing,” Tommy said.
“So Patrik stole four pounds, which means Per Lindström has twenty-four pounds of pure cocaine stashed away somewhere, with a street value of around a hundred million kronor,” Fredrik pointed out after a quick mental calculation.
They were talking about huge sums of money, which explained the significant loss of life among those who had been involved with this particular shipment.
Everyone jumped when Lena Hellström clapped her hands and said, “I’ll call a meeting right away, speak to everyone in my department who’s been keeping an eye on Gothia MC recently. Someone might have a suggestion as to where the coke is hidden, and we’ll definitely check out the trailer. We’ll reconvene on Friday morning.”
“Should we bring in Per Lindström and Jorma Kinnunen for questioning?” Fredrik asked.
All three senior officers shook their heads.
“There’s no point. We don’t have enough to go on,” Tommy said.
“All we have is what Kazan told Irene; he’s dead, and she was alone with him at the time. We can’t prove anything,” Lena said, glancing at Irene.
Irene thought about protesting, pointing out that forensics indicated that they were looking at the same consignment all the way along, from the double homicide outside Varberg through to the hiding place in Kazan’s closet, but she refrained. To be fair, that was all they had in terms of firm evidence; Christoffer von Hanke would simply claim that the traces of cocaine at Gothia MC’s HQ had been planted and proved nothing.
“We need to find the coke first, then we can bring them in,” Stefan Bratt said.
Everyone started to gather up their pens and notepads.
“Okay, so we’ll meet on Friday morning—nine o’clock in this room,” Tommy concluded, getting to his feet. He seemed to have held on to the fresh spurt of energy from earlier in the day; Irene wished some of it would come in her direction.
The group who would be running the surveillance operation on Pravda met again
at six. It had never been a decent restaurant, more of a bar. Plain clothes officers had been patrolling the area all day; a couple of smart cookies had borrowed dogs, so that they could stroll around with their four-legged friends looking perfectly natural.
Tommy Persson and Stefan Bratt came up with a plan, which was accepted with one or two minor adjustments. Toward the end of the meeting Stefan informed the team that Ann Wennberg had been passing information to Gothia MC. The revelation received a mixed response. It was obvious that some people had already heard the rumors, but most were devastated and found it hard to believe. Stefan murmured and nodded, without showing what he really felt. As the hum of conversation died down, he said:
“We’ll be interviewing Ann again tomorrow, but she has admitted everything. There’s a tragic family story behind what’s happened; I’ll get back to you as and when necessary,” he said, making it clear that the discussion on that particular topic was over.
When they went their separate ways shortly before eight, everyone knew what they were doing the next day.
Irene went down to the underground garage and took out an unmarked police car, just as she and Tommy had agreed. She drove out through the electric gates and watched in the rearview mirror as they closed behind her. She spent some time driving around the neighborhood just to make sure she wasn’t being followed; then she headed out to Jonsered.
A number of cars were parked outside the ICA store in Jonsered. A sign on the door informed her that it was open every day until nine in the evening. During breakfast Irene had noticed that they were almost out of milk and that the cheese looked like a ski slope when the snow has almost melted. They were probably out of eggs too. Time to do a little shopping.
She parked right by the entrance. In order to pay Tommy back at least in part for providing her with a place of refuge, she bought fruit and vegetables as well. She decided two big packs of rolls on sale were definitely a bargain; then her guilty conscience drove her to pick up a pack of heavy, dark brown whole-wheat bread cheered up with a few sunflower seeds, even though she knew neither of them would eat it. Pasta and a ready-made tomato sauce would do for dinner; that was the closest to home cooking she could manage tonight. For the following day she chose pork chops and a bag of frozen potato wedges. Krister would have had a fit—buying expensive frozen potatoes! But what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, Irene reasoned. To be on the safe side she added two frozen pizzas before joining the line at checkout. She found herself standing next to a big refrigerator full of beer and soda, and grabbed a six-pack of beer. That would brighten Tommy’s day.
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