The blue lights pulsed across the façades and stacks of containers in the desolate corner of the port. Two of the vehicles were from the flying squad, with heavily armed police officers ready to storm in at a moment’s notice. Beyond the inner circle of police cars were five ambulances and a couple of civilian cars that Bielke and Anna had arrived in.
Sara had found Jenna’s body wrapped in a tarpaulin in a corridor, stabbed, beaten, bloody.
It felt as if she were dropping through a black hole. She was in free fall down a mineshaft – in slow motion.
If only she had managed to get Jenna to understand she might still have been alive, instead of lying here like a bag of rubbish waiting to be thrown out. Yet another life on Sara’s conscience.
Her colleagues still didn’t dare enter the warehouse building, given that it was international soil. Bielke had been stopped by the police lawyers, who had caught wind of what had happened. As a result, Sara’s boss was now trying to obtain permission from someone in Customs or the company who owned the warehouse, but it seemed to be almost impossible to find anyone responsible. In the meantime, Sara and Roger had bound or shackled all the detainees inside the warehouse and then carried out the man who had been strapped down and tortured. The others didn’t have life-threatening injuries.
‘Stop! Desist!’
Sara recognised the man who had shouted. Conny Mårtensson, a defence attorney who often represented the most serious criminals. He emerged from his British racing green Rolls-Royce Cullinan and raised a warning hand while walking towards the police with long strides. Sara examined him at a distance. He was well over sixty, but still boasted a thick mane of hair combed back and curling down into his neck.
‘I represent Stirner Shipping. This is an infringement of a customs zone. You must immediately return everybody and everything that you have removed.’
‘They’re hurt. There are several people inside with gunshot wounds.’
‘Stirner Shipping will deal with that.’
‘Not a chance. They’re murder suspects.’
‘Not on Swedish soil.’
‘They can be convicted of murder in other countries too.’
‘But you can’t arrest them in there.’
‘Are you protecting murderers?’ Sara said, taking a threatening step closer to the lawyer.
‘Sara, there’s nothing we can do,’ Bielke said, putting a calming hand on her shoulder.
‘But he has to go to hospital,’ said Sara, pointing to the tortured man. ‘He’s on Swedish soil and may be dying.’
‘Did you carry him out of there?’ said Mårtensson.
‘No,’ Sara lied.
‘Well then,’ said Bielke, signalling to a couple of paramedics, who placed the man onto a stretcher and carried him away.
‘There are six wounded people in there,’ Sara said to the attorney. ‘Shot in self-defence. And at least one dead body. Plus several detainees.’
‘The paramedics may enter to tend to the injured and I will establish whether they wish to file a police report for attempted murder.’
‘Under whose laws?’ said Sara. ‘They weren’t shot on Swedish soil.’
Mårtensson scrutinised her and apparently made up his mind that she was right, because he said no more about the matter. Conny Mårtensson never entered a battle he couldn’t win.
‘There are most certainly no detainees in there,’ he said. ‘Because there are no personnel with adequate authority here to carry out arrests.’
‘Bielke,’ Sara said, almost pleading.
Bielke thought for a while, but then he nodded briefly to the lawyer. Mårtensson smiled and entered through the gate leading to the warehouse, followed by the paramedics.
‘Are you just going to let them go?’ said Sara. ‘Have you seen what they do to people in there?’
‘I’ll leave two cars here to watch the area. As soon as anyone comes out, we’ll arrest them. This is the only exit. In the meantime, we need to talk about that artist in the photo – who clearly must have been here and witnessed one of the murders.’
‘Uncle Scam,’ said Sara. She had taken a photo of the computer screen and shown it to Bielke. ‘If he’s still in the country. The final gig was last night.’
‘He’s still here. His suite at the Grand Hôtel is booked for another night, and the hotel says he’s there right now, checking out in the morning. So I sent a car over to pick him up.’
‘Good. We’ve got this too.’ Sara passed over the mobile she had confiscated inside the warehouse. ‘One of those gorillas dropped it when he met us over at Gärdet. Definitely Swedish soil. And I think you’ll find all sorts of messages on it from people who are guilty of instigating murder, or worse. “Watch” and “do yourself” are the key phrases. I promise you that Juha Kallio and Jan-Olov Åkerman will be mentioned in there.’
‘Thanks,’ said Bielke, taking the mobile. Either he believed Sara or he chose not to question her account.
‘Now I want to talk to Uncle Scam,’ she said.