Silenced (28 page)

‘Bangkok?’ Fredrika echoed in surprise.

‘Yep.’

‘So he cancelled his phone subscription,’ Alex said. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘If it was him who did it,’ Fredrika put in.

‘Just so, if it was him who did it . . .’

‘Which it probably wasn’t,’ Fredrika went on. ‘It seems more likely, doesn’t it, that it was the same person who cancelled Marja’s, a bit later?’

‘It’s perfectly possible to cancel another person’s telephone subscription,’ the technician put in. ‘The only information they ask for, to check it’s the subscriber ringing, is basic stuff like national identity number and home address.’

Alex nodded and knitted his brows.

‘The question is,’ he said irascibly, ‘why the hell was that so important? Cutting off their phones?’

The technician withdrew and a cleaner passed by in the corridor. Fredrika nodded to him that it was fine to do her office.

Alex picked up the report of the two fatal shootings the night before. The man found in the water at Brunnsviken had probably died only an hour or so before the jogger found him. The murderer might very well not have thought anyone would be out jogging in Haga Park at midnight, and not expected the body to be found so soon. As for Muhammad Abdullah, he had died about two hours before the other man.

Same weapon, same perpetrator, Alex wondered. A peripatetic murderer, then.

As if reading his thoughts, Fredrika said:

‘I think we can assume it was the same perpetrator in both cases.’

Alex waited a moment and then asked:

‘And the link to Jakob Ahlbin? If there is one?’

‘Yes, I think there must be one,’ said Fredrika, looking thoughtful.

Then she said:

‘I think they both needed silencing, and that’s the link.’

Alex’s eyes grew wide.

‘But why?’

‘That’s what I don’t get,’ Fredrika said frustratedly. ‘Muhammad Abdullah was open with us about being scared when we met him, and with hindsight we know he had reason to be. And Jakob Ahlbin seems to have had reason to be fearful, too, but the question is whether he was aware of it himself.’

‘Exactly,’ said Alex. ‘And why was Muhammad Abdullah so bloody petrified, in fact? Well, because he was convinced he’d had sensitive information entrusted to him, and because he was scared the police were going to start looking into his connections with the traffickers.’

‘And he had time to pass the sensitive information about the new migrant-smuggling network on to Jakob,’ Fredrika supplied.

‘One of those emails told Jakob to stop looking. Does that mean he was actively seeking out information that he should have steered clear of?’

‘Seems a fair assumption.’

‘But can that really be the link?’ Alex said dubiously. ‘I mean, it sounded like something
positive
for the refugees that there might be this cheaper, better alternative that would mean not having to put themselves into the hands of corrupt gangsters.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Fredrika. ‘It really would be odd if people smuggling refugees on generous terms went in for killing vicars at the same time.’

The cleaner had finished and gave Fredrika a little wave as he came back past Alex’s room. Then something else occurred to her.

‘The man who was killed by the car outside the university,’ she said.

‘The murdered bank robber?’ queried Alex.

‘Yes, him,’ said Fredrika. ‘He had supposedly come into the country that “new” way, according to Muhammad, so it seems quite likely that he had some insight into how it operated. And he was murdered, too.’

Alex looked doubtful.

‘And the man in Haga Park?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said Fredrika, feeling her pulse rate rise. ‘But there’s something about that story that feels terribly . . . close . . . I just can’t put my finger on it.’

Alex stood up and looked at his watch.

‘I’m going to try and track down this officer in Norrmalm who had contact with Tony Svensson,’ he said determinedly. ‘And let’s hope the national CID can come up with more detail on these other murders during the day. Meanwhile, you find out all you can about goings on around Karolina’s death.’

‘Right, I’ll get straight on with it,’ Fredrika said with equal resolution, and leapt out of her seat with surprising agility.

Alex’s face split into a grin. The real Fredrika Bergman was back.

For the second time in swift succession, Tony Svensson was brought in for police questioning. This time he was rather less cooperative, and stared mutinously at Peder Rydh and Joar Sahlin as they came into the interview room.

‘I’ve said everything there is to say,’ he bellowed. ‘You hear? I’m not saying another word, I tell you!’

Then he planted himself on his seat, folded his arms and glowered at them.

Behind that façade of strength and cockiness, Peder could see something else: fear. He hoped it would not pass the clueless Joar by.

Peder was quite happy with the way his week had started. He loved it when things started hotting up at work, it was a good distraction from all the painful private stuff. Recent developments on the case had also meant a postponement of his appointment with the workplace psychologist.

‘We’ll get going on that when there’s time,’ Alex ruled, and promised he would personally ring Margareta Berlin, head of HR.

So Peder was able to focus exclusively on Tony Svensson.

‘We’ve just got a few follow-up questions,’ he said quietly.

Tony Svensson continued to look furious.

‘I’m saying nothing,’ he hissed.

Not true, thought Peder sarcastically, you’re talking non-stop.

‘Is there any special reason for that?’ asked Joar.

He’s got it, thought Peder. The question is whether he’s going to fritter our advantage away again.

‘Is there any special reason for what?’ snapped Tony Svensson.

He clearly had the will to communicate after all – he just wanted some guarantees.

‘Is there any special reason why you’re refusing to talk to us any more?’ Joar asked slowly.

No reaction. Tony Svensson’s mouth was clamped shut.

‘I think it was like this,’ said Joar, leaning across the table. ‘You felt pretty calm last time you were here, because you knew we only wanted to talk about what you had against Jakob Ahlbin, and because you knew that would all sort itself out. It wasn’t you who sent those last emails and you knew we’d find that out sooner or later.’

Joar took his time, trying to read in Tony’s face whether he was getting through.

‘But this time you’re scared, because we want to talk about something else all of a sudden, and you know as well as we do that there aren’t that many subjects we’d want to ask you about.’

He leant back in his chair again, giving Tony his cue to speak by adjusting the balance of power at the table. But Tony said nothing and his face was hard to read.

‘We think you went round to Jakob Ahlbin’s because he was interfering in your affairs again, and we think somebody else
sent
you to do that,’ Peder said softly. ‘And the only thing we want and need to know is who your contact was and what you were supposed to do or say.’

He tried to catch Tony Svensson’s eye, running one hand across the table as if to brush away some invisible speck of dirt.

‘Jakob Ahlbin and his wife were shot in the head,’ he said in a businesslike tone, but keeping his voice low to encourage a feeling of mutual confidence. ‘My colleague and I will find it very hard not to tie you into this investigation on suspicion of being an accessory to murder, unless you can give us some good reasons not to.’

Tony Svensson still refused to speak, and his solicitor put a discreet hand on his lower arm. Tony pulled his arm away quickly.

Shit, thought Peder. They must have put the frighteners on him to a point where he’s more scared of whoever he’s working for than he is of going to jail for being an accessory to murder.

‘What did they say they’d do to you if you blabbed to anyone?’ asked Joar, as if he had read Peder’s mind. ‘Did they threaten to shut you up for good? Or were they going to make do with a good beating?’

Still no answer, but Peder could see Tony Svensson’s jaws grinding.

‘I saw in your paperwork that you’ve got a daughter,’ he ventured.

And provoked a very physical reaction.

‘Don’t you touch her!’ roared Tony Svensson, leaping up. ‘Don’t you touch her!’

Joar and Peder stayed in their seats.

‘Please sit back down,’ Joar said mildly.

Peder tried to get Tony to look him in the eye.

‘Was it her they were going after?’ he asked. ‘Was it her they were going to take if you squealed?’

Tony Svensson subsided onto his chair like a punctured balloon. He did not look at either of them, just put his elbows on the table and leant his head in his hands.

‘Was that it, Tony?’ asked Joar.

And – finally – got a silent nod in reply.

Peder breathed a sigh of relief.

‘We can help her, Tony,’ he said. ‘We can help you both. If you’ll just talk to us.’

‘Like hell you can,’ Tony said hoarsely. ‘Don’t you fucking well say you can protect any of us from them. Not a bleeding chance.’

Peder and Joar looked at each other for the first time in the interview.

‘Oh yes we can,’ Peder said assertively. ‘And we can do it well, what’s more. Much better than you could do yourself.’

Tony Svensson gave a weary laugh.

‘If you believe that, then you haven’t got a fucking clue about all this,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘My only protection, my only bloody hope of surviving this and getting my daughter through it unharmed, is to not talk to you. Have you got that? If you really want to save me, you fucking well let me out of here right now.’

A chair scraped on the floor as the solicitor made a slight movement.

‘All we need is a name,’ said Joar. ‘That’s all – then we’ll take care of the rest of it.’

‘If you get your fucking name, there won’t be any “the rest of it”,’ bellowed Tony Svensson. ‘I haven’t got a name. I’ve just got a fucking ugly face.’

‘But that’s enough,’ said Peder. ‘Then at least you can identify him. We can give you pictures to look at and if you recognise him . . .’

Tony Svensson’s harsh laugh cut him off in mid-flow and bounced back off the bare walls.

‘Look at pictures,’ he said dejectedly. ‘You lot are fucking floundering and you don’t even know it. It’s not somebody like me you’re looking for, you fucking numbskulls.’

Peder leant forward.

‘What are we looking for, then?’ he asked tensely.

Tony Svensson clamped his mouth shut.

‘I’m not saying another word,’ he growled.

Peder hesitated.

‘Okay then, tell us something about what you had to do, instead.’

Tony Svensson was listening.

‘If you don’t want to tell us who your contact was, at least tell us what they wanted you to do.’

There was silence while Tony Svensson thought over what Peder had just proposed.

‘I had to stop sending emails,’ he said under his breath. ‘And it was no skin off my nose, because like I said, our problems were sorting themselves out. But then there was another thing.’

He hesitated.

‘I had to go round to the vicar’s and ring at his door. And hand over an envelope.’

‘Do you know what was in it?’

Tony Svensson shook his head. He looked despondent now.

‘No, but it was important that it was handed over on that particular day.’

‘And Jakob took it from you?’

‘Yes. He looked surprised to see it was me, but then he realised it wasn’t about Ronny Berg.’

Joar drummed his fingers lightly on the table.

‘Did he read the letter while you waited?’

Tony sneered.

‘Yeah, he did as it happens. He was fucking furious, and told me to tell the people who’d sent me that they ought to think twice before threatening him. He said he was going to burn the letter when I’d gone.’

‘What did you get for doing those things?’ asked Peder.

Tony Svensson looked him squarely in the eye.

‘I got to carry on living,’ he answered. ‘And if I’m lucky, and if I play my cards right, my daughter will as well.’

‘So they threatened to harm her if you didn’t do it?’ Peder said gently.

Tony Svensson nodded, his eyes strangely watery. Joar seemed to be thinking hard; then he sat up straight and threw back his shoulders.

‘They’ve got her,’ he said, sounding almost fascinated. ‘They took her as a guarantee that you’d carry out your part of the operation.’

Peder stared from Joar to Tony Svensson.

‘Is that right?’ he asked.

‘That’s right,’ he said darkly. ‘And I’ve no idea how they’re fucking well going to react to me coming in here again.’

When they had finished the interview with Tony Svensson, Peder and Joar requested a few minutes to confer before they let him go home again.

‘I don’t think he’s bluffing,’ said Peder as soon as the two of them were alone.

The intensity of the hatred he felt for his colleague was affecting his judgement. The only thing softening his feelings a touch was the events of the weekend, when his son was ill and he had spent Saturday evening and most of Sunday with Ylva.

‘It’s important for us to stick together when we need to,’ he told her when she got back from the hospital to find him in the kitchen, preparing dinner for them all.

As if they were a family. As if they actually belonged together.

Ylva agreed with him and for the first time in ages, they spent a peaceful evening together. He asked how things were going at work, and she said she was feeling much better now. He was glad to hear it, but could not bring himself to talk about his own situation. He had never been able to bear feeling inferior to her in any way, and this was no exception.

Joar’s voice brought him back to the present with a bump.

‘I don’t think he’s bluffing either, and I definitely think we need to take the threat scenario seriously, but . . .’

‘But what?’ demanded Peder.

‘I’m just not sure they’ve got his daughter as he claims.’

‘I am,’ Peder asserted, without much thought about what he was saying.