Project Nirvana (9 page)

As they passed the café, he could see the waitress standing in the middle of the café with a mobile phone to her ear. She was probably talking to the police. Good luck with that! By the time they arrived at the crime scene, Tor would be halfway to Sigtuna.

He pushed his good hand into his trouser pocket and felt a sizeable wad of notes. There had to be at least three thousand in different notes, he guessed. First, the van keys, and now this. His luck had finally turned.

Tor asked the taxi driver to stop at the all-night petrol station in Solna. He needed some tools. Breaking into a locked caravan required only a screwdriver, pliers and a hammer. To be on the safe side, he also bought two Mora hunting knives.

The cash would have been sufficient for a cheap hotel. Even a better class of hotel. But checking into a hotel also meant showing an ID and the cops had direct access to hotel booking systems.

Tor paid the taxi driver and gave him a big tip to avoid any awkward questions. He lied about knowing the owner of the caravan site and that he was picking up his parked car from inside the gates. The taxi driver was not in the least interested in Tor’s explanation. He was only interested in his tip of two hundred crowns and in getting back to the city.

As soon as the taxi lights had disappeared into the darkness, Tor began to climb the fence of the caravan site. It was difficult to get a good grip on the steel mesh with his right hand, which was now hurting considerably. After two attempts, he was forced to give up. Instead, he followed the fence along the road in order to see if there was any gap. Twenty metres on, the two-metre-tall barrier veered into a field that ended in a wood. A birch tree with branches near the ground was growing next to the fence. Tor sized up the branches and decided they were strong enough to carry his ninety kilos. With some difficulty, he climbed up the tree and then jumped down on the other side of the fence. He lost his balance upon landing and instinctively braced himself with both hands.

Pain shot through his body like a knife as his right hand was crushed between his chest and the ground. He started to scream, but stifled the sound between his gritted teeth.

The damp from the ground soaked into his clothes and he quickly started to freeze. He stood up on shaky legs and hurried towards some caravans that were parked nearby. From one of them, he could see an electric cable connected to an power outlet. The windows were not frosted, which indicated that it was heated. Tor jammed the screwdriver into the door lock and banged it in with the hammer a few times. He twisted the screwdriver with the pliers until the lock broke with a metallic click.

The caravan locks were easy. Locks on modern cars however were much more difficult.

He opened the door and was met by a welcoming warmth. It was a standard caravan. At one end, there was the mandatory double bed and at the other end, a padded bench around a small table.

He removed his wet clothes so he stood naked on the floor. He hung his clothes over the small heater element and started to search the caravan. In one of the cupboards, he found an old blanket that smelt like a wet dog. He wrapped himself in the blanket and laid down on the double bed. His body shook with the cold. Yet, his eyelids grew heavier and the pain in his hand eventually subsided.

Just as he was starting to fall asleep, he heard a scraping sound. He tensed and sat up in the bed, wide awake. Every muscle was stiff. He looked for his Mora knives, but realized that he had left his bag of tools outside the caravan.

Mjasník now knew
what Detective Inspector Walter Gröhn looked like. It had been just after nine-thirty in the evening when a taxi stopped outside the entrance to the detective inspector’s block of flats and dropped off an older man, together with a young woman. The two had talked for a few minutes before separating. The man went into the entrance lobby and the woman disappeared on foot, heading west.

After a while, the lights went on in one of the rooms in Walter Gröhn’s flat.

Mjasník decided to follow the woman. Investigating the detective’s social relationships could be useful, but there was nothing to be learned while he was at home by himself.

The woman had barely gone a hundred metres and was walking with brisk strides along a street called Odengatan. The entire time, he kept her at a safe distance without letting her get out of sight. A skilled stalker could avoid discovery even if the target had training in surveillance techniques.

Finally, they arrived at Kaptensgatan. The woman crossed the street and disappeared into a doorway. After a while, the lights went on in a flat on the second floor.

He just needed now to find out the woman’s name and her relationship to the detective. He went up to the entrance and found answers to both questions in the name plate on the intercom buzzer.

It was three
in the morning when Martin Borg was woken up by his mobile phone. The Mentor explained that everything was ready. Both Hedman and Osmanaj had accepted their respective offers. The time and place were already set.

Martin rolled over in bed, now satisfied that his most pressing problem would soon be taken care of. Later today, he would start going through the telephone numbers on Omar’s hard drive in search of the truth serum.

Shortly afterwards, Martin’s mobile phone rang yet again. This time the old man demanded an immediate meeting. Less than an hour later, Martin was sitting in a car behind the famous copper tents in Haga Park.

“Today, the BKA is having a meeting with the NBI and that Gröhn fellow about Leo Brageler,” the Mentor began.

“The BKA?” Martin repeated, surprised. “Brageler and the production of Drug-X are my responsibility, so there’s no reason . . . ”

The old man interrupted Martin. “Four scientists at Dysencomp in Germany have been murdered and the Germans think that Brageler is involved in some way.”

Martin looked at the old man in the shadows of the car, in disbelief.

“There’s something going on that we don’t know about,” he continued. “The four individuals at Dysencomp have not been assassinated without cause. There are others looking for Brageler.”

“Gröhn has asked for a meeting today,” Martin said. “I suppose it concerns . . . ”

“The NBI is hosting the meeting. You must find a reason to be part of the meeting. First thing today, you must talk to Kokk.”

Martin had never seen the Mentor so tense. He understood that they must play their cards wisely. More than ever, Martin needed that truth serum.

Jonna had just
fallen asleep when Walter called her mobile phone. “Are you sleeping?” he asked.

“Not any more,” concluded Jonna, not totally sure if she was awake.

“Barely an hour ago, a person fitting Hedman’s description illegally emptied a cash register,” said Walter. “I can be outside the entrance to your building in ten minutes. Alternatively, you can go back to sleep and we can meet tomorrow.”

“See you in ten minutes,” Jonna said, and hung up.

What she had agreed to, she was not sure. But five minutes later, she had dressed and quickly brushed her teeth. She pulled a brush through her hair a few times before locking her front door and running down the stairs.

Walter was already waiting outside with the engine running.

“Just got out of bed?” he greeted her, giving Jonna a cursory inspection as she hastily sat in the car.

“Why would you think that?” she retorted, fastening her seat belt.

Walter felt a little guilty. “I know that you’re not on call, but I figured you’d want to tag along.”

“What’s going on?” Jonna inquired, rubbing her eyes.

“A manhunt.”

“Which man are we hunting?”

“Are there that many wanted suspects?” Walter asked, putting the unmarked patrol car into gear.

“Let’s see, there’s Leo Brageler, Tor Hedman,” Jonna suggested. “Not to forget the fake journalist, if Jörgen Blad’s story is to be believed.”

“You do have a point,” Walter conceded, turning onto Strandvägen. “This time, we’re setting the dogs on a suspect resembling Hedman. He just robbed an all-night café.”

“The evidence points to Hedman?”

“Yes, the description from the waitress is quite detailed and it can only be him.”

“Where did he go after the robbery?”

“According to a witness who was parking a car, a tall man ran past his car at high speed. The witness thought he saw him jump into a taxi farther down Götgatan.”

“Have the taxi booking offices been contacted?”

“Of course,” answered Walter, mildly amused by the fact that Jonna was debriefing him. “So far we have nothing. The taxi driver may have turned off the meter, or it could be an unlicensed taxi. If that’s the case, it will be difficult to track him. It would require a small army of detectives to round up every illegal taxicab in Stockholm. Even if we get hold of the driver, it’s by no means certain that the address at which he dropped Hedman will be of any use.”

“No, he can’t be stupid enough to take a taxi to his real destination so that we could catch him by simply asking the taxi driver for the address.”

Walter smiled at Jonna. “Remember that we are talking about Hedman and he is missing a few chromosomes.”

“So, what do we do now?” Jonna asked, stifling a yawn. Going back to bed did not seem like such a bad idea.

“We’ll find the taxi driver by talking to the touts on and around Götgatan,” Walter said, popping yet another cough drop into his mouth. “First, let’s go to the café where Tor grabbed all the cash.”

Ten minutes later, Walter was double-parked outside Café Mammaia. Two uniformed officers met them at the door; Walter flashed his police badge in good time so that they did not waste any time on introductions. A waitress was standing behind the counter. Walter and Jonna sat down facing her and introduced themselves.

“Some coffee?” the waitress asked.

Walter and Jonna both nodded.

The waitress poured out the coffee. She showed no signs of shock; instead, she seemed angry. She slammed the coffee pot back on the coffee machine.

“You were surfing the internet while the cash register was emptied?” Walter began, taking a big gulp of coffee.

“Yes, I was online,” the waitress replied.

“Did you by any chance see what the man was doing before he took the cash?”

“Do you know who the guy is?”

“Not yet,” Walter lied. “Please answer the question.”

“Well,” she said, thinking. “He was talking on his mobile, I think. Other than that, he just drank some coffee.”

“Did he talk for a long time on the phone?” Jonna asked.

“Dunno.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“How long was he here?” Jonna continued.

“Perhaps an hour.”

“There’s nothing else you can remember?”

The woman thought for a while.

“Nope. He was just like any other customer.”

“Has Forensics located the coffee mug?” Jonna asked, looking at Walter.

“Of course, they are already testing it for fingerprints and DNA,” Walter said, patiently.

“What about the witness who saw Tor running away? Where do we find him?”

“We can give him a miss for the time being,” said Walter, finishing his cup of coffee. “His statement is already taken and it’s not critical. Let’s see what the streets can tell us instead.”

“The streets?”

Walter went over to the door. “Are you coming?”

There was very little traffic as Walter and Jonna walked out onto Götgatan. The occasional car passed by, spraying slush from its tyres. They walked the same route that Hedman had taken a few hours earlier and found a taxi parked in approximately the same spot where the witness had seen Hedman hop into a taxi. Walter tapped on the taxi window and a swarthy man in a leather jacket rolled down the window.

“Police,” said Walter, showing his ID. “We want to ask you some questions.”

The man looked suspiciously at Walter. “What sort of questions?”

“Do you normally park here?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Did you pick up a tall man in his fifties about two hours ago?”

The man glanced from Jonna to Walter. He shook his head.

“Are you are completely certain about that?” Jonna persisted.

“Sure, I am,” said the man. “I was at Arlanda airport then. Why are you asking me?”

“Do you know anyone else who parks around this spot at night?” asked Walter. “There are lots of pubs around here, so I suppose there are plenty of fares.”

The man shrugged. “There might be a few.”

“Who are they?” Jonna asked.

“There’s a Balkan guy and a few Tunisians.”

“Touts?”

The man nodded.

“Do you know their names?” Jonna was insistent. The cold and questioning the man had woken her up.

“Why do you want to know?” The man’s voice was suspicious.

“The taxi driver that picked up the man we’re looking for could be in danger,” Jonna lied.

The man studied Jonna carefully for a while. “Pavle is from Serbia,” he said finally. “Then there are the Yahia brothers. I don’t know them very well.”

“The four of you are usually here at night?” said Walter.

“Mostly.”

“Do you have numbers for Pavle and the Yahia brothers?” Jonna asked.

Although he was not amused, the man smiled, exposing two black gaps in his yellowish-brown teeth. “I said that I didn’t know them well,” he said, “but that shouldn’t be a problem for the police.”

Walter thanked the taxi driver and took out his mobile phone. He called the Surveillance Unit to get the mobile phone numbers of the three unlicensed taxis and waited impatiently on the line. After a short while, Walter got the number for one of the Yahia brothers and Jonna located Pavle Jemeri
ć
. Neither of them had picked up a fare from Götgatan in the past two hours.

The second brother was unreachable. His brother said he might be taking a short nap and would have turned his mobile off. He was probably at the layby for taxis at Arlanda. Some loaded charter flights were due to land soon and there would be a feeding frenzy for taxis on the night shift.

Walter broadcast a APB for the brother’s taxi as he sat behind the wheel of his car. “Let’s take a chance that he’s at Arlanda,” he said. “Keep trying to call him.”