by Jon Stenhugg
“What? When you’re running away from yourself? I knew you meditated, but I thought you did it to find yourself. How can you find yourself if you’re running away from yourself?”
“Fuck you, Hurtree,” said Sara. “I don’t need a lesson in cheap philosophy from you.”
“Sounds to me like you’re still living alone. You were just as grumpy the last time I saw you. Maybe it’s time you got a real life.”
“What, like yours?” asked Sara. “What kind of life have you got to be proud of? I mean, when your boots are on for the last time, will there be anyone at your funeral?” She saw Hurtree turn his face away into the darkness.
“Sorry,” she said, “that was a cheap shot.”
“Yeah,” said Hurtree, “it was. True, but easy to use. You’re all too right. I gave up on having a life long before I retired. The job became the reason to keep breathing. Now, without the job I wonder why I still bother. Very depressing sometimes. Then something like this turns up and I get to do something which could be useful, or at least I can pretend it might be useful. Gets me all fired up. Almost like falling in love.”
“Did you ever do that, Hurtree, fall in love?”
“Now you’re getting personal,” said Hurtree. “Too personal even for you.”
He raised his binoculars again, and said, “I haven’t been able to see any movement down there since we got here. Are you sure there’s anyone there at all?”
“According to our guys in Malmö the house is empty. They’ve been looking at this house for several days now. I was chasing him for a murder I think he did up near Stockholm.”
“And so what makes you think he’s here? Maybe he caught a boat to the continent. Especially if he’s a murderer.”
“Just a hunch. You know me, John, all method until it comes to the nitty-gritty, then it’s intuition for the rest of the day.”
“Speaking of the day,” said Hurtree, “When does the sun come up around here? Or does it come up at all?”
Sara gave Hurtree a short lesson in Nordic daytime hours, explaining that the sun setting some time in October and rising again in March was something that you could only experience above the Arctic Circle, which although well within the territorial boundaries of Sweden, was still over eight hundred miles to the north. “Sweden’s an elongated country,” she said, “sort of like a long banana.”
“Well, at least a country that is long on action. Look at that.” And he pointed to a caravan of black sedans, using only their parking lights as they positioned themselves along the road near a thicket of firs that obstructed the view from Lemko’s house. “Looks like our friend is about to get a visit from the boys in black.”
“You’re right,” Sara said. “I wonder what makes them think he’s at home?”
“Maybe they’re just doing a practice raid. Well, if he is home you can be sure he’s got a tunnel built as an escape route,” said Hurtree, and he told her the story about the time he’d followed Schneller into an open square in Berlin, losing him in a telephone booth that had been placed over an opening to the city’s sewer system.
The sun would be coming up over the horizon in another half an hour, and the sky to the east took on a lighter shade. They both saw the contour of a shed in the trees behind the house and Sara’s eyes followed a path that led from the shed up into the trees, away from the house. She thought she saw movement, something leaving the shed, but there was nothing there when she looked again.
Was that my eyelash on the lens? I’ll never get used to using binoculars.
She got out of the car, watching the NSS team surround the house, motioning to each other, finally smashing in doors and windows in their final penetration.
A noise just to her right, something raining on the leaves, made her turn in surprise as the motorcycle came out of nowhere. It was soundless, black, a ghostly horse and rider rushing out of nowhere, then disappearing into the darkness, the rider hunched over the handlebars. The bike sprayed Sara with gravel as it disappeared.
“Jesus! What was that, John?”
“It looked like a motorcycle, but I didn’t hear anything. It doesn’t matter, it has to be Schneller. It has to be. Back in the car. Let’s get after him.”
Sara started her car and spun out in the gravel. She honked her horn several times, hoping the men from the NSS would hear and follow. She saw the brake light on the bike flash red in front of them, and it looked like he veered to the right after that.
He was heading for Trelleborg, Sara was certain of it, and she wound the motor of her little Peugeot beyond the red line at each shift of gears. Schneller was still way in front of them, barely visible as a darker dot on the road that went by the village church at Gylle.
“Can you find out where we are on your map?” she shouted to Hurtree, who was hunched over several pages of printouts.
“No, I’m off the map after the church, but from the looks of it, railroad tracks cross between us and the city.”
“I wonder what kind of bike he’s on? It was silent but I can barely keep up with him,” said Sara.
“Must be one of those new electric bikes. Environmentally correct monsters, but they can break the speed limit almost anywhere. Maybe we can ask him when you catch him – his battery has to run out some time.”
“I’ve gotta get him first,” she said. “Can you see if there’s anyone following us?”
“No headlights I can see,” said Hurtree, after turning to look behind them. “Shouldn’t you call for some kind of backup?”
“I’m not supposed to be here. And how would I explain you?”
“I’m just a tourist. Isn’t that one of your robot cop cameras?”
“Smile,” said Sara as they sped by the stainless steel post which blinked a strobe light when they passed. “We just got our picture taken.”
“I hope you can afford the fine. Any idea where he’s headed? Maybe we can get in front of him.”
Sara swerved to avoid a dimly-lit tractor hauling a trailer. “He has to be headed for the ferry terminal, and there’s no shorter way I know of. I’ll just have to drive faster.” And they became airborne as her car left the viaduct over the railway tracks, leaving sparks behind them as part of the undercarriage scraped the pavement on impact.
*
When they got into the city of Trelleborg, the street lights helped keep the bike in view, but he was still way out in front. Hurtree had found Sara’s map of Trelleborg in the door pocket, but she already knew the destination. The ferry terminal would be a sharp right as the road reached the water. Brake lights ahead flashed for a second, then disappeared.
“He just made a right,” said Hurtree.
“On it,” she said, and the Peugeot lifted two wheels as she went through the corner. “Get ready to run up some stairs when we get to the terminal. We’ve got to try to stop him from getting on board the ship. As soon as he gets through customs this becomes very difficult.”
The bike lay on its side in front of the entrance to the ferry terminal, discarded and worthless to Schneller as he bounded up the rolling staircase that led to the terminal. Hurtree was after him like a shot as soon as Sara stopped the car. She hit the warning lights, took a pair of handcuffs out of the glove compartment and joined Hurtree in his rush up the stairs.
My God, where does Hurtree get his strength? I know people his age who get winded using the elevator.
When Sara reached the top of the stairs she saw Hurtree scanning the crowd of passengers as they milled about the terminal, some waiting to purchase their tickets, others waiting for friends to arrive, others just waiting for the customs gate to open. He motioned for Sara to wait for him and disappeared into the men’s room, coming out in less than a minute, calling her over to him.
“I think I know where he is,” said Hurtree, “but I think you’re better equipped to go in there.” He motioned to the door of the women’s restroom. “Be careful,” he said. “This guy can be dangerous when he’s trapped.”
&n
bsp; “Keep everyone else out of here until I come out,” Sara said, “and try to get some help from security if you can.”
There were three women in the ladies’ room when Sara went inside; a barrel-like, older woman who was washing her hands near the exit, a teenager with black hair applying way too much make-up, and a tall blonde at the end of the room who was concentrating on the mirror as she adjusted a scarf around her neck.
Sara stooped under the stalls and saw a pile of clothes and a black motorcycle helmet lying on the floor under one of them. She couldn’t see any feet, so Schneller was either standing on the toilet or had already left. She took out her badge and asked the women to leave the room.
It was the strength of her perfume that did it, that and the large gold ring on her right hand that seemed to belie the feminine shape that walked past her on her way out.
Sara shouted for the blonde to stop and moved in behind her, grasping her left arm which now had become a bicep of steel. Sara somehow got a wrist lock and drove Schneller into the tiled wall, and knew from his deep male grunt that she’d made no mistake.
Schneller tried to drive a stiletto heel through her foot, but Sara was prepared for it and he was thrown off balance long enough for her to twist her wrist lock even harder, and he went down on both knees, wincing in pain.
Sara put the cold metal of the handcuffs on his neck, dislodging the blonde wig. “Stop resisting or I’ll blow your head off.”
Schneller relaxed and slowly brought his right hand behind his back, allowing her to handcuff him just as a customs security officer poked her head through the door. “Everything OK?” she asked.
“Everything’s just fine,” said Sara, “I’m a police officer and I’ll need a room for this prisoner, if you have one.”
“You can use our female search room,” said the security officer, helping her lead Schneller out and through the passengers who had assembled to observe the event.
Sara saw Hurtree’s grin and his double thumbs-up as she steered Schneller towards the search room. Schneller stopped, looked at Hurtree, then returned his gaze to Sara. His wig was now hanging awry and he shook his head to loosen it. Several people gasped as the wig fell to the floor, and there was a lot of pointing and commotion before she and the security officer managed to get him into the search room.
Sara sat him down on the only chair in the room, flashed her police ID card and perched on the table as she waved a goodbye to the security officer. “I’ll just sit here with him until the rest of my team arrives,” she said, and they were left alone.
Schneller looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact, and slipped his feet out of the high heels. The disparity between his attire and his head added several years to his age, and now he looked like an elderly cross-dresser, pathetic and sorrowful.
Sara remembered what Hurtree had said about him being dangerous when cornered, so she jumped down and put the table between them. “OK, Lemko, or should I call you Schneller? I’ve got you for the murder of Leo Hoffberg. You’re going down for that, and you know it. Why not make it a little easier for yourself and tell me what you’ve done with Spimler?”
Schneller stopped looking at the floor. His intense blue eyes caught Sara’s for the first time. There was a coldness there which made her shiver. She felt like she’d captured some kind of predator, and it was eyeing her for lunch. Sara took another step back, away from the table, and as she did so his lips formed a grim smile of recognition.
“Yes,” he said, “you’re right to back away.”
“Spimler,” Sara asked. “What did you do to him?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I had no contact with anyone called Spimler.”
“Hoffberg must have told you something,” Sara said.
“Mr Hoffberg didn’t tell me anything.” Then he said deliberately, “Although he could have saved his life if he had.”
“Tell me about it. Tell me what happened out there.” Sara was surprised he’d opened up so quickly. She usually had to sweat suspects for hours before they gave up and confessed. This was too easy.
“I have told you what you need to know. I killed Mr Hoffberg.”
“How?” Sara asked.
“I shot him twice in the chest,” he said, his face emotionless, relating what had happened as if he were telling Sara about buying a carton of milk. “He might have been dead already from the electric shocks I’d been giving him, but I shot him just to make sure.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because if he wasn’t going to tell me anything then he wasn’t going to tell anyone else either.”
“But why?” Sara asked again.
“Why what?” asked Schneller.
“Why did you kill him?”
“I like it,” he said, and he dropped his head again, staring at the floor.
“And the torture? Why that?”
“I enjoy that most of all,” said Schneller softly, still staring at the floor. He rubbed his face on his shoulder, relieving an itch.
“I have another question,” Sara said. “Who was it that hired you? Who was your contact?”
Schneller kept his eyes on the floor, and his voice was barely audible as he answered, “I did this on my own. I always work alone.”
“But why?” asked Sara. “I don’t understand what you were doing here. Did it have anything to do with a rocket? We know a lot about that, Lemko. Or would you prefer Schneller?”
Schneller looked up at her, and there was a wry smile on his face. “Like I said, I work alone. And I like it.” Then he continued, “I’ll be safe in jail.”
“Safe from what?” asked Sara.
“People like you,” he said as he looked up at her. “You people from the NSS are always the same. I’ll be safe in jail.”
“I’m not from the NSS,” said Sara, “I work for the National Bureau of Investigation in Stockholm. Just an ordinary investigator. No spooks here.”
“There will be,” he sighed.
Before Sara could answer, the door to the search room opened and Ekman walked in, accompanied by two uniformed SWATs. Ekman looked at Sara, shook his head, and inspected the handcuffs restraining Schneller.
“I thought you were told to leave this case to us,” said Ekman.
“Yes,” Sara said, “I was, and I did. I just happened to be here when this murderer tried to escape to Germany on the ferry.”
“I’ll speak to you in Stockholm,” said Ekman, and then she was left alone in the room. Sara went out to watch them escort Schneller to one of the unmarked black cars outside, and she looked around for Hurtree. She returned to her car and found him explaining in English to a traffic warden why Sara’s car shouldn’t be ticketed.
Sara took over with the traffic warden and Hurtree was talking to someone on his cell phone when she got into the car.
“Yeah, buddy, like I said, Schneller just got banged up. My good friend here, Sara, caught him. You should’ve been here, Charlie, it was just like the old days. Got my blood pumpin’. What? Uh-huh, OK, no, no, I haven’t heard anything about that, sorry. Maybe you oughta talk to your spooky friends up here – I’m getting zilch from everyone, as usual. Yeah, great. Bye.”
Hurtree turned to Sara as she was backing out onto the street. She moved the car to a parking place where they could discuss where he wanted to go now.
“Sara, I just heard something that might be the reason behind Schneller’s mission, something you haven’t been telling me.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Sara said.
“Does the name Shkval mean anything to you?” he asked.
Sara had never been able to lie and she knew it, something which probably kept her a little more honest than others. Her face always tattled and her voice started to warble as the lie left her lips, so she had to think quickly – how to answer without lying? “What could that possibly mean?” she asked as her mind went into overdrive.
Hurtree looked at her, his eyes probing. “S
hkval,” he said. “There’s something that links Schneller to a Shkval. And you don’t know what that is?”
Chapter 16
Sara turned to Hurtree. “OK, this Shkval thing is going to come out anyway. I just found out something recently and when I told Ekman about it my whole case ended up on his desk. That’s all I know about it,” she said.
“Well, I always wanted to get my hands on one of those babies. It could be one of them is out on the open market. Looks like someone stole one from the submarine base in Paldiski in Estonia last year. My guys managed to follow it as far as watching it being loaded onto the MS Sally in Tallinn, which sank on its way to Stockholm. Since then it’s just gone up in smoke.”
“I think maybe my murder victim had something to do with it. He had a manual for it in his house,” said Sara, “but I don’t know any more and I’m pretty certain I shouldn’t even tell you that much.”
“Yeah, well don’t tell me anything that will get you into trouble. I have some background information on the Shkval if you need it, but now that Schneller’s involved, Ekman will be taking over and neither of us will ever get to know anything.” Hurtree swirled his hand in his duffel bag, and it emerged holding two candy bars. “Breakfast?” he asked. “I’ve still got a bunch left.”
“Breakfast is a good idea, but your candy bars can wait,” Sara said, and she pulled in at a parking place outside a café close to the ferry terminal. “I have to get my adrenaline back in line, and maybe you can help me figure out what just happened.”