Marked for Life (15 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

THERE WERE SEVEN
of them in the beginning. Now only Hades and she were left. She had shot Minos, and Hades had killed his opponent in the cellar. One boy had got a deep knife wound between his ribs during an exercise and he died some days later from his injuries. One girl had tried to escape and then been locked up in the cellar, and when they opened it again she had starved to death.

A weakling, that's what Papa had called her.

Then there was Ester, who disappeared when they got to the farm. But it was her own fault. If only she had listened to Papa and done as he had said, then she would certainly have still been with them. Alive.

The girl stroked her head with her hand. She had no hair. The trainers had shaved her. It was so that she would create a stronger identity of her own, they had said. Hades, too, had a shaved head and he rubbed the bare top of his head, back and forth. They were sitting opposite each other in the middle of the stone floor and staring at one another. Neither of them said anything, but Hades smiled at her when her eyes met his.

Spring had come and the rays of the sun sought their way in through the cracks between the wall planks. They had been given a new set of clothes but the girl wasn't interested in that. She was longing to get her hands on the weapons that lay in front of them. The sharp blade glistened now and then, reflecting the sharp light that came from outside. Next to the knife lay a gun, and the girl had never seen it as well polished before. Hades had done a good job with that. He must have polished it for hours.

Hades had once been extremely fond of technology. On the garbage heap he had found lots of broken machines and tried to repair them. He had dreamed of finding a telephone. But he never did.

She knew that, because she had helped him go scavenging.

The girl's thoughts were interrupted by the door being opened. In came Papa, closely followed by the lady trainer and another man whom they didn't know. Papa stopped in front of them, bent down and examined their shaved heads. With something that resembled a look of satisfaction, he stood up and ordered the girl and the boy to do the same.

“Well,” he then said. “Now it's time. You're going on a mission in Stockholm.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

JANA BERZELIUS REMAINED
sitting in her car in the dock area with the engine running. She had spent several hours planning her work, considered and dismissed various methods until she had reduced them to a selection of realistic scenarios to choose from.

She had finally decided that her private investigation must fulfill certain conditions. She must never be linked to the actions she carried out. She must be wary of telephone calls and email. She had to be extremely thorough in everything she did. Absolutely never act on impulse. If it came out that she was carrying out a private investigation parallel with that of the police, then not only would she be suspended, but her name—Ker—would be the object of the next investigation. That would presumably mean the end of her career.

She had nevertheless decided to proceed and to start with the boy. The carvings on his neck were not there by chance. The letters had a purpose and the name had the same connotation as hers, death. But during the morning she had come to the conclusion that it was better to start by investigating the number and letter combinations that Ola Söderström had found in Hans Juhlén's computer. It could hardly have been a coincidence that she had seen the combination together with a shipping container in her dreams, and she had made her final decision to visit the docks.

It was, however, difficult to find a way to visit as discreetly as possible. She would presumably be seen by people who passed by, or by dockworkers or others employed there. But if anyone were to recognize her, she would explain that she wanted to be a step ahead in the investigation. And as the prosecutor in charge, she had every right to try to hurry things along.

Jana sat quite still on her leather-upholstered driver's seat. She ran through the whole situation in her head.

From her pocket she pulled out the list of combinations. She looked through them all and wondered how she should present her interest in them. She would have to weigh her words carefully. Not reveal too much. A minute later she folded the piece of paper and put it back in her pocket. She stepped out of the car.

The entrance to the docks office was dark and the doors were locked. The sign displaying the operating hours revealed that the office had closed an hour earlier.

She felt the door handle again, but nothing moved. She took a step back and peered up at the office windows that looked like empty black holes in the yellow building. A cold wind made her shiver and she pulled her leather gloves out of her pockets.

Then she walked along toward the terminal and realized that they had stopped working there too. The dark, lively water broke against the concrete edge. Two huge cranes towered over a freighter berthed by the quay. A bit further away were another two ships. Trucks were parked in a fenced-off area, and large batches of timber had been stacked beside the wall of a hangar. The spotlights cast long shadows on the warehouse and the asphalt.

Jana was just about to return to her car when she caught sight of a light coming from a shed right at the end of the dock area. Despite her gloves, her hands were still frozen and she pushed them into the pockets of her trench coat, resolutely approaching the shed. Her heels clapped against the concrete surface. Her footsteps joined the noise from the traffic from the port bridge behind her. She glanced at the warehouses where the light from the spotlights didn't reach. She was still alone in the dock area.

The shed was close now, and she slowed her step. She really hoped somebody would be there. Anybody at all, somebody to ask. With only a couple of steps to go, the sound of music reached her ears. The door was ajar and a sliver of light shone out through the narrow opening.

Jana raised her hand and knocked. Her glove dulled the sound so she knocked again, only firmer this time. Nobody opened. She stood on tiptoe and looked in through the window but couldn't see any movement in the shed. She pulled the door open and looked inside.

A coffee machine was bubbling away on a cabinet. Two folding chairs stood next to a table. An old mat covered the floor, and a strong lightbulb hung from the ceiling. But nobody was there.

A loud noise startled her. She turned round and tried to localize it. Then she saw that the big doors to the closest hangar were open.

“Hello?” she called out.

No answer.

“Hello?”

She closed the shed door and went toward the hangar and the more deserted part of the dock area. She remained standing in the entrance. It was bitterly cold in the large space where various machines and smaller cranes were parked. Different sizes of tools rested on the floor, and shelves along the walls were filled with spare parts such as tires and truck batteries. Cables hung down from the ceiling and a lifting mechanism to repair vehicles was stationed at the far end of the hall. On the right side was a sort of side room, almost corridor-like, which led to a gray steel door.

A man was crouching down and working on a truck with his back to her. She knocked on the metal wall next to the entrance so that he would notice she was there, but he didn't react.

“Excuse me!” she said in a loud voice.

The man lost his balance and only just got it back by supporting himself with one hand on the floor.

“Oh hell, you gave me a scare!” he said.

“Sorry. But I need to talk to somebody in charge.”

“The boss has gone home.”

Jana stepped into the hall and took her hand out of her pocket to greet him.

“I'm Jana Berzelius.”

“Thomas Rydberg. But, sorry, I don't think you want to shake hands with me.”

Thomas got up and showed her his oily hands.

Jana shook her head, put her glove back on and looked at the man in front of her. He was well built, with dark eyes and a wide chin. A knitted gray cap covered the top of his head, and under his jacket you could just glimpse a pair of suspenders holding up his trousers. She guessed that he must be approaching retirement. A dirty polishing rag stuck out of one pants pocket and Thomas tried to clean his fingers on it.

“I wonder if you can help me?” she said.

“With what?”

“I'm investigating a murder.”

“Shouldn't the police be doing that? You don't look like a police officer.”

She sighed.

Her plan of not revealing too much was already going wrong. She had to rewind the tape a little.

“I'm the prosecutor investigating the murder of Hans Juhlén.”

Thomas stopped cleaning his hands.

Jana went on.

“We've found a list of combinations of numbers and letters that we know are significant but we can't fully understand. We have reason to believe that they are a sort of code for shipping containers,” she said and unfolded the sheet of paper with the combinations on it.

Thomas took the paper out of her hand.

“What've you got here...?”

His facial expression changed. He immediately refolded the sheet and gave it back to Jana.

“I've no idea what these mean.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Thomas took a step back. And yet another.

“I need to know what the combinations stand for,” said Jana.

“No idea. I can't help you.”

Thomas looked at the steel door and then looked back at Jana again.

“Do you know anybody who can?”

He shook his head. Took another step back, two, three...

Jana realized what he was going to do.

“Wait,” she said, but Thomas had already turned round and started to run toward the steel door.

“Wait,” she shouted again, and ran after him.

When Thomas saw that Jana was following him, he grabbed at the tools as he passed, and turned and threw them at her as a warning. But nothing hit her and she continued the chase. He finally reached the door and tried to pull at the handle but realized that the door was locked. Panicked, he pulled harder on the handle and threw his weight against the door—but it was pointless. He couldn't get out.

Jana came up behind him and stopped about three meters away. He was standing still now, breathing heavily. His head angled from side to side as he tried to find another escape route. But there weren't any.

He saw a large adjustable wrench on the floor, quickly bent down and picked it up. He turned around and aimed it toward her. She didn't move a muscle.

“I don't know anything!” he shouted. “Get out of here!”

He raised the wrench again to show that he meant it. That he would hurt her. Badly.

She realized that she ought to do as he said. That she should leave. It had gone too far. She took a step back, and saw that Thomas smiled when she did that. She took a few more steps back, tripped and was caught by the wall.

He was there straightaway, and stood in front of her.

Close. Too close.

Now she was the one who was trapped.

“Wait a moment,” she said.

“Too late,” said Thomas. “Sorry.”

Jana immediately felt as if she had been transformed. A sense of calm took over. She stared right into his eyes. Focused. Stretched out the fingers of her right hand.

Thomas suddenly let out a roar and swung the heavy tool in his hand at her. She ducked and he missed. He swung again but she nimbly jumped to one side. He renewed his grip on the wrench and tensed his muscles. Then Jana took a quick step forward, raised her hand and hit him.

Eye, throat, crotch.

Bang, bang, bang.

And then a kick. Back leg forward, rotate, kick. Hard.

She kicked him right on his forehead.

Thomas collapsed and ended up lying by her feet.

Lifeless.

At that very same moment she realized what she had done. The adrenaline boost turned immediately into horror. She put her hands over her mouth and took a step back. What have I done? She removed the hand from her mouth, held it in front of her and saw it shaking. How did I...? Now she became aware of her surroundings. What if somebody had seen her? Twice she looked round to make sure she was safe. Nobody could be seen. The hangar was empty. But what should she do now?

A vibrating sound came from the lifeless man's clothes. It developed into a ringing sound that got louder.

Jana bent down and checked one of his pockets, but found nothing. She pushed him over to get her hand into the other one, and there she found his cell. “Missed call” it said on the screen. Hidden number.

She decided to take the phone with her. She threw a quick glance at the lifeless body, took off her gloves, turned round and walked out.

The dark shadows hid her as she made her way to where she had parked. The docks were just as desolate as before.

When she got into her car she immediately opened Thomas Rydberg's phone and went through the list of calls received. Hidden number several times. Then there were a couple of complete numbers and she quickly wrote those down on a parking receipt. In the list of outgoing calls, there were numbers connected to names, and Jana made a note of these too. Nothing seemed weird or out of the ordinary.

It wasn't until she checked the list of outgoing text messages that she found something strange. In one of them it said:
Del. Tues. 1.
That was all.

She stared at the short message, wrote it down, as well as the date it was received. Since an active phone can be traced with simple means, she quickly slid out the SIM card and put the telephone in the glove box.

She took a deep breath and leaned her head against the neck-rest and felt calm again.

It shouldn't be like this, she thought. I ought to react, scream, cry, shake. I've just killed a man!

But she didn't feel anything.

And that worried her.